


My Lord Potter

by HPFandom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Explicit Language, M/M, Mpreg, Mystery, Out of Character, Romance, Sexual Content, Slash, Suspense, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-30
Updated: 2006-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 12:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 55,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10162814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPFandom_archivist/pseuds/HPFandom_archivist
Summary: Hiatus. [HPLV slash] AU Fifth year. Dark Trio. Dumbledore should have realized he could not keep the Golden Trio under his thumb forever. There are secrets about Harry Potter that not even he knows, and some are much bigger than others.





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, or any other character found within J.K. Rowling’s books. I do, however, own the first Half-Blood Prince character found in my prelude.

Warnings: AU, child abuse, character bashing, Dark Trio, slash, torture, NON-CANNON, character death, and use of smoking/alcohol.

Prelude

Dear Severus,

I must say, it was quiet a surprise, and no less a pleasure, to receive a letter from you, though it contents were much curious. I, of course, have the information on James Slytherin that you requested, but the next time we do tea, we will be discussing exactly why it is you need it. My current thoughts on the reason rest on a former pupil of mine.

I believe the main reason there are so few records on the Half-Blood Prince, is because, like with You-Know-Who, many were terrified that even writing his name would bring his wrath upon them. James Gryffindor (Slytherin) was not a kind, just, and powerful ruler, contrary to common folklore in small wizarding villages and a few obviously made up prophecies that claimed he would be. The to-be ruler of the Wizarding world was born of wedlock by rape to Severino Slytherin, the son of Hogwarts founders Salazar Slytherin and Rowena Ravenclaw, and Ruth Maynard, a young, sophisticated and rich Muggle woman. Of course, Slytherin did not remain with the mother of his child, and Ruth, horrified at the prospect at having a child by her attacker, abandoned the infant on the front steps of then fifty-two-year-old Godric Gryffindor, who instantly recognized him as an heir of his archrival. Not cruel enough to leave a child on the streets, Godric took the infant in, and attempted to raise James, as he was named, to be a light wizard, despite the fact that he already had two children of his own, Seamus Codogan and Olga Marie. However, despite these attempts, James quickly realized he was not like his brother and sister, and acted as such, constantly blowing up things, hexing his elder siblings (there were constant arguments and mutual dislike between the trio) and house-elves with precarious spells, and even Obliviating current Minister of Magic Jospeh Cornelius Fudge, in plain view of his parents and other witnesses when the Minister accused him of stealing Galleons from the Fountain of Unity.

At the advice of his wife, Helga Hufflepuff, Godric informed the then thirteen-year-old James of his heritage, in hopes it would encourage the teen to avoid the road of his elders and take the one of his adoptive family. Though James did show signs of improvement, Godric’s choice would cause of his charge’s eventual turning, and his downfall, when he, his wife, and Seamus, slaughtered the Slytherin family in the Battle of the Founders. When told of the news, James, instead of being happy like the others of the magical British community, was furious, and in that fit of rage, cast a spell of strong hate onto his adoptive father, the green light killing him instantly, and repeated the action on Helga and Seamus. Olga was spared, as she had moved to Godric’s Hollow, along with her husband, Vladimir Potter, a year earlier, as was too far along with child to travel and give proper congratulations. The deceased were found early the next morning, hung by their arms at the entrance of the Ministry of Magic, glassy eyes staring back at their audience with horrified expressions. Nailed into Godric’s chest, spelled to keep any blood from seeping through, stating in plain, black letters, “The Half-Blood Prince has risen. Enemies, beware.”

It was only natural that a war would follow, as it would be should any two or more forces of extreme power disagree upon something, and one did, precisely one year later, when the self-proclaimed prince blew up the newly constructed St. Mungos, causing a ripple of rage and cheer throughout the entire country. It is referred to, in text of diaries of those who lived through it, as the ‘Blood War’, as for once Muggle-Borns and Pure-Bloods stood together on both sides…or perhaps because it was truly a bloody war. Witches and wizards of all ages, if they (or their parents, if they were under-age) had chosen a side, were not spared any mercy, tortured by the Reducto curse on their veins or Crucio on their bones. Mothers were forced to watch as their children were slowly filleted, and husbands made to witness their wives suffering the blood-letting curse as they were ravaged.

Not much is known about the Blood War besides what is written in diaries, though it is common knowledge within the library that after a mere six months of fighting, torture, and numerous loss on both sides, the ‘Slytherins’, as they called themselves, defeated the Ministry, and James became the horrific prince briefly referred to in history books. Perhaps this is the reason why your young hatchlings are looked upon as if they are evil.

And to your question concerning a possible mix between the Slytherin, Gryffindor, and Potter lines, it is stated in the journal of a Slytherin that James took an unwilling lover in Tobias Potter, the son of his adoptive sister, and it is rumored in many of them that their relationship resulted in a male child. However, this was never proven, as Tobias was rescued by a rebellion clan (led by brothers Arthur and William Weasley), along with several others, two years into his imprisonment.

I do hope I was able to clear some things up for you, instead of giving you further questions. Do right whenever you feel the need, even if it is to chat. I daresay it would be relieving to converse with a Dumbledore who does not keep you on your toes. Do send my greetings to Draco, and ask him to stop by. Blaise is restless around us of old age.

Sincerely,

Aberforth

TBC


	2. Plotting

  
Author's notes: [HPLV slash] AU Fifth year. Dark Trio. Dumbledore should have realized he could not keep the Golden Trio under his thumb forever. There are secrets about Harry Potter that not even he knows, and some are much more bigger than others.  


* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Aberforth Dumbledore, Hermione Granger, or any other character found within J.K. Rowling’s novels.

Warnings: AU, child abuse, character death, Dark Trio, angst.

Chapter One

Aberforth Muhammed Tiberus Dumbledore sat behind his book and parchment covered desk, the phoenix-feathered quill he had received for Christmas from his elder brother resting between his teeth as he frowned. Ink dribbled down his chin as he studied the text before him, brilliant honey eyes clearly showing his confusion at the ancient scribbles. His short, white hair was sprinkled with dark gray dust; his brown robes torn and thin, making it impossible to believe that they were able to provide the man with warmth.

Though he had reached the age of one hundred and twenty-five, Aberforth appeared not a day over thirty, a fact that annoyed the wizard to no end.

Most would find it odd that the brother of the defeater of Grindlewald resided deep within the prestigious History of Magic library, with very little to call his own, whilst Albus Dumbledore lived in the lap of luxury within the walls of Hogwarts, his position as Headmaster ensuring him a place amid some of the most important figures in the community. Aberforth did not seem to mind, though, even when his colleagues would report on random activities his brother participated in, their jealousy for him evident in their voices as they spoke. The men and women of his ‘home’ had grown found of the wizard since his arrival on their doorstep eighteen years prior, seeking refuge from the insulting Daily Prophet on his charmed goat, as well as concealment from Albus, and his manipulation attempts with his gift. Honestly, who wouldn’t want to exploit the abilities of a Seer for one reason or another? And he had of course, countless times. The birth of a power-rival, Voldemort’s next move, the turn of Severus, the deaths of Lily and James Potter, the prophecy…

Aberforth shuddered at the rush of memories, the visions of them too horrific, having been the cause of countless nightmares for several years. He had had several other visions since his arrival, but the seclusion of the library had made them fuzzy and undecipherable.

“Master Aberforth?” A timid voice broke the youngest Dumbledore’s concentration on his reading, his eyes warming as they sought the source of the interruption. The youthful face of fifteen-year-old Blaise Zabini peered cautiously around the doorframe, coal black eyes locking with those of his mentor, shoulders relaxing as he did so. Though young, Blaise had shown great interest in magic’s history, and had been working at the library every summer since his first year of Hogwarts. Despite his Slytherin housing, or perhaps because of it, the raven-haired teenager had not let slip Aberforth’s location, regardless of Albus’ looming authority over him. He was a trustworthy child, though his taste in Muggle music was questionable.

“Come in, come in. No need for formalities.” Blaise did as directed, smiling softly, albeit nervously, as he approached the old man’s desk. “What can I help you with?”

The Slytherin was quick to remove a rolled piece of parchment from his robe pocket, lightly blowing off any unseen materials that were clinging to it, and then slowly handed it to the amused Aberforth, looking away as he did so. With a slight chuckle, the elder wizard unrolled the parchment, his humor fading as he read its content.

Master Aberforth,

As you know, Blaise attends Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and therefore receives a list of necessary items required for the term. Usually, I would take him to Diagon Alley to fetch them, but, as I’m certain you are already aware, I have taken ill. I have asked the rest of the staff, but it seems that you are the only one not working on a pressing subject. I was wondering if perhaps you could take the boy. If not, I’m sure he could simply send a request to the stores via owl when he reaches school.

Sincerely,

Master Galius

The white haired man scowled at the letter. Galius Scrootnus was a new addition to the library, not even a decader, as were called those who had worked at the HOML for ten years. The short, wrinkled, and wart-covered man had taken an instant dislike to him when the reason for his stay had been explained to him. The man never failed to inform him of how he was a coward of his power, and how he could be out saving lives, and was instead saving his own at the cost of others. Galius played on guilt, as the letter failed to hide, as he did with everyone, feeling it was the only way to get what it was he wanted. And most of the time, it worked.

Aberforth had not been outside the walls of the library more than twice every few months, and not once in the past three years. The curse of being a Seer was more than seeing the future and condemning people with prophecies. It was the feeling of the future itself, bearing down on the mind of any and every Seer it could find, and the more powerful the Seer, the more the burden, and the stronger the message received with a vision.

He looked up to see Blaise still studying the walls he had seen millions of times, not missing the slightly hopeful look on his protégé’s face. The child did follow the seclusion the staff did, and Aberforth knew how much he looked forward to school shopping, as he constantly talked of running into housemates, catching up on the latest news, and catching glimpses of some boy in a different house he liked. Blaise had been working so hard, too, and that was deserving of a reward. One little outing couldn’t hurt. Perhaps he would even tan a bit.

“Well, my boy, it seems that you and I are to take an outing.” His smile widened as Blaise grinned. “Go and fetch your cloak.”

It seemed that the suggestion of a cloak was a rather good one, as the second the duo exited the building, a fierce, cold wind rammed into them angrily, howling in displeasure of their interruption in its path. Aberforth’s pressure was almost immediate, causing him to stagger and pause for a moment to adjust, waving off Blaise’s concerned look. They were walking to the corner as second latter, Aberforth smiling as Blaise took in a deep breath of fresh air, obviously something he would not get from the dusty atmosphere of the library, and pointed out the conveniently close Leaky Cauldron.

As they approached the pub, the pressure on the old wizard’s mind grew, obviously due to the numerous people inside, and their potential vision-causing destinies. No doubt it was crowded within the walls, and such a pity, too. He had hoped to get a drink. Butterbeer always did lessen his headaches.

“Straight to the back, Blaise!” Called Aberforth over the once again howling wind. His honey-colored eyes looked to the sky, spotting the oncoming rain clouds with a sigh. He hoped this would not cut their trip short, for the boy’s sake.

He entered the bar cautiously and slowly, easing his mind into what promised to later be a need for a headache-relieving potion. He was not surprised to spot a large group of Aurors in the northwest corner, as it was always their gloomy fate that brought the sharp pains to his head. He wished he could warn them, but Aurors went into their business knowing their inevitable doom, and seemed to relish in the possibility of dieing rather than be fearful of it.

The weight was almost unbearable by the time Aberforth reached the backdoor, making him grateful that it was morning, meaning the crowd in Diagon Alley would be smaller than the Leaky Cauldrons. He pushed open the door, revealing an impatient Blaise standing in front of the brick wall, tapping his foot to show his emotions clearly. With a smile at his charge’s actions, Aberforth stepped through the doorway, closing it behind him.

At which it stopped.

The pressure was gone. There was nothing. The wind did not howl; the clouds loomed, yet did not let loose their rain. All he could feel were his own thoughts and feelings, something he had not been graced with since he was seven-years-old. The concept seemed foreign.

“Master Aberforth?” asked Blaise tentatively, peering closely at the dazed man. “Master Aberforth, are you alright, sir?”

Slowly, a smile crept its way across Aberforth’s face, and his eyes widened like those of a child who had just been informed of the wonders of Santa Clause.

“It’s gone,” he whispered happily, turning a misty gaze to his charge. “It’s gone. I’m free.”

What happened next would be enough to frighten even the toughest, and was certainly enough to leave Blaise with nightmares for years to come.

It appeared as though he had been hit in the head with a bag of invisible bricks, falling to the cement ground, shrieking like one being tortured. The wind picked up considerably, blowing harshly as blood began to spout from the wizard’s mouth. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his breath came out in ragged spurts.

The pain was unimaginable, unbearable. It was far worse than anything he had ever experienced before. It felt like his body way being sliced open by hundreds of knives, all in different areas. Words were leaving his mouth, but he could not decipher them, the images flashing through his head more distracting. A large man…pain…a brunette man with a golden crown, knighting someone?…a dark-haired child… a golden lightning bolt with a black snake wrapped around it…and green eyes…such green.

The visions ended, as did his words. The pain was murder, making him wonder if there really were gashes covering his body. He tried to open his eyes, but each time he did, all he saw was red…something was running down his cheek. Was he crying?

“Master Aberforth! Please wake up, Master Aberforth!” Beseeched Blaise, kneeling down beside his mentor’s head and wiping away the blood pouring from his eyes. He then placed his hands beneath the elder wizard’s shoulders, attempting to pull him into a sitting position, but quickly abandoned the idea at his cry of pain.

Pain…the boy!

“I’m going to go get help,” said Blaise anxiously. He had not even fully risen before Aberforth’s hand began to wail around, as though seeking his. The Hogwarts student clutched it quickly, giving it a reassuring squeeze as the elder man pulled him closer to his face. His eyes opened, but where there had once been honey irises, there was now blood, blood that leaked as the eyes began to overflow.

“Protect him!” exclaimed the old man desperately, giving Blaise a slight shake as he did. “You must protect him. You heard my prophecy, you know of whom I speak!” His breathing became more erratic, and his grip on the Slytherin fifth-year’s collar tightened. “Protect him.”

tTt

The Burrow was a warm, fuzzy house with a warm, fuzzy feeling any who entered felt. With four children and five adults inside its walls, it was quite easy to see why. Mrs. Molly Weasley was a loving and caring mother, who spoiled her offspring with love and affection, but made sure they ate their vegetables before dessert. Mr. Arthur Weasley was a doting and protective father, who would sprinkle his children with affection, but refused to let them date until he approved the potential. Their sons, Bill, who worked as a curse breaker, Charlie, who worked with dragons, and Percy, who was the junior-assistant to the Minister of Magic, had all grown and moved out, seeking quiet life. The twins, Fred and George, were prank masters, infamous at Hogwarts and second only to Marauders. Ginerva was their only daughter, and therefore was one of the most spoiled teenage girls around their village.

Then there was Ronald.

Ron was the youngest of the Weasley sons, and indeed, the darkest out of all of them as well. Since the end of term, Ron had spent most of his time in his room, coming down only for meals and to speak occasionally with Charlie. His sudden mood change had caught his family off-guard, and none of them really knew how to act around him, accept Charlie, and even he could barely get more than a few words from his youngest brother. Ginny tried asking him what was wrong, and had found his oak door slammed in her face following the question. Fred and George had also followed that approach, and had heard many colorful words they never expected to hear from 'ickle-Ronniekins'. Molly and Arthur had decided, in the end, that it was simply a phase he going through and told the others to leave him alone, and to visit him at their own risk. Fred, George, and Ginny claimed it was a girl, the lovely Hermione Granger girl, to be precise, and that she had ignored his oh-so-obvious advances.

The truth was, however, that Ron hid not from the other Gryffindor’s supposed rejection, but locked himself away with guilt, guilt with how he had treated his best friend the prior term.

The redhead had been particularly cruel to the Boy Who Lived during their fourth year, when the other boy’s name had popped out of the Goblet of Fire and he had become the second Hogwarts Champion, and the fourth of what was intended to be three. He had been jealous of the attention Harry had received from it, and slightly hurt that the teen had not shared with him his secret. Of course, the reasons why were crystal clear now. A Death Eater spy had placed Harry Potter’s name in the golden cup, and his best friend had been forced to deal with horrific actions from Voldemort and his followers without him there to help. No, Ron had been so caught up in the fact that he was the friend of an excelling champion and that Harry had been doing so well throughout the tournament that he had been cheering whilst his friend was tortured by an insane Dark Lord, and visited by the echoes of his long deceased parents and freshly murdered schoolmate.

Some best friend he was. More like a selfish, self-centered bastard who took no notice of the emotions of those around him.

“Ron! Ron, it’s time for breakfast!” The hopeful voice of Molly Weasley made him snarl at his paper-thin wooden door. The rest of his family had spent the past two weeks acting as though last year’s events had never occurred. He despised them for their ignorance of Harry’s pain, for the happiness they lived in whilst the raven-haired savior was haunted by the memories of his atrocious trials. And his mother was the worst of them all, prancing around the house in a gay manner, trying her damndest to make everyone else cheerful. He would not be a part of something as inconsiderate as that.

“I’m not hungry,” he replied in a loud, cold voice. There was a moment of hesitation from his mother, and then came her response.

“Ronald Conrad Weasley, this is getting ridiculous! You will come down for breakfast or so help me Merlin I will bring this entire house down!” Ron snorted, unimpressed by the shouted words, and simply threw himself back down on his bed, smirking slightly as he heard his mother’s disgruntled mutters as she stomped noisily down the hall and stairs. At this rate, she would bring down the house, though not intentionally.

His blue eyes sought his window, lightening at the sight of the dark clouding, glad at least Mother Nature shared his feelings. Tears began to form behind his eyelids as a few drops of rain hit his window, and a sad smile formed on his rose lips. He now had someone with whom to share his grieving for Harry’s pain.

tTt

“Potter!” Neighbors had long since grown accustomed to the bellowed name from number four, Privet Drive, having heard it at the same time every day for the last two weeks. Mr. Vernon Dursley had received no complaints for his far-too-early yelling, the residents of the street understanding the circumstances of “that Potter boy”.

Said child was currently sitting on the floor of the smallest bedroom of the Dursley’s home, though it was a palace compared to his old cupboard, in which he had spent ten years of his life. His pale face was framed by unruly and tangled raven locks, brilliant emerald green eyes hidden behind largely framed black glasses. The fourteen-year-old was clothed only in torn, too-big jeans held up by a ruined jump rope, leaving his scarred chest visible for the world to see. Some of the gashes still oozed crimson, whilst others had healed into twisted scars. Dark purple bruises contrasted horribly with his pale figure, his labored, shallow breathing making it instantly apparent that the teenager adorned at least one broken rib.

When asked later on in his life, Harry Potter would be unable to recall memories from most of his punishments. They happened mostly at night, when Harry would awaken Vernon and Petunia (Dudley could sleep through a death Eater raid) with shouts from his devilish nightmares. He himself would jerk awake at the sharp connection of the metal buckle of Vernon’s belt whipping at his body, and the shrieks from Petunia to shut up and go back to sleep. He would lie awake for hours afterwards, shivering, soothed only by the reassuring hoots of Hedwig.

The Gryffindor slowly looked up as his uncle’s summons made their way to his ears, eyes blank at the threatening commands. Vernon ‘requested’ his presence every morning, though the teenager suspected it was more to wake him from much needed sleep than to call for him, as he had not left the top floor since his arrival. His Aunt Petunia occasionally pushed stale and expired food under the still present cat-flap, no doubt fearing the repercussions his death at their hands would cause with ‘those freaks’, and he ate it, despite its appearance and content. Because there was so little of it, plus the fact that he gave half of everything to Hedwig, resulted in his body shrinking to an even smaller stature, making him appear more the ghost of a five-year-old child than a fourteen one. When he came up for the nightly thrashing, Vernon claimed it was because he was the sun of the Devil, and it was God’s way of punishing him for it.

The temptation to kill the man and be done with it was almost too much to ignore.

He frowned slightly at the sound of rain pounding the roof, releasing a barely audible groan. Rain made his broken bones ache more than normal, which in turn made his lacerations feel as though they were being ripped open over and over again. He was not exactly sure why he had not let himself die; it wasn’t as though he hadn’t had the opportunities. He could have thrown himself into Vernon whilst receiving a beating, possibly enraging the man far enough to break his neck and be done with his burden. Or he could simply stop eating, and feed the food to Hedwig, and let his body eat his insides to sustain itself.

Hedwig. There was a reason to live, he supposed. His beautiful owl could not survive the Dursleys on her own, locked in her cage, defenseless, either being eventually shot by Vernon or meeting the same fate of starvation Harry currently wished upon himself.

For some reason, that thought brought back the events of his summer at the Dursleys after first year, during which he had been starving, which instantly drug up pictures of Ron. Kind, caring, protective, quick-tempered Ron, his best friend, his confidant, his detention companion, his brother. Then, Hermione appeared, smiling brilliantly, brown eyes twinkling with love and understanding. Sweet, loving, brilliant, yet vicious and protective Hermione, his other best friend, other confidant, his advisor, his sister.

Then, of course, there were Remus and Sirius, his ever-doting, so-protective-they-would-kill-someone-who-gave-him-so-much-as-a-red-mark-from-a-playful-slap godfathers…   
“Alright, I get it already!” cried Harry suddenly, voice so hoarse his shout sounded of a whisper. He brought his hands to his hair and clutched the raven locks tightly. “Merlin, no wonder Voldie killed his family. With thoughts like these, it’s damn near impossible to think about your own doom and gloom.”

Hedwig hooted her disapproval at her master’s words, to which Harry simply rolled his eyes, sighing as a lightning bolt hit the ground, and then chuckling as Hedwig gave a startled jump and indignant squawk. However, both occupants stilled at the sound of heavy footsteps on the steps of number four, Harry shrinking back against the wall as the locks on his door jangled, the white wood swinging forward to allow the monstrous form of Mr. Dursley, still clothed in his robe, through, his black leather belt clutched tightly in his right hand.

tTt

Hermione Alexandra Granger let out a frustrated groan as another one of her quills snapped, shooting an annoyed glare towards the floor, where the angry shouts of her parents could be heard screaming at one another. Their meaningless bickering, though it had only been going on four an hour, had already cost her five quills and two essays, both of which were for Professor Snape. The usually patient, caring brunette found herself wishing they would hurry up and divorce, if only to spare her ears and school work from further damage.

Hermione’s nerves had been running on high lately, the cause being Mr. Harry Potter’s lack of response to her constant letters. The same had happened during the summer of their first year, though as she highly doubted Dobby would do such a thing to Harry again, she could honestly come up with no good excuse as to why her fellow Gryffindor and best friend had not replied to her invitation to visit her house. She had considered writing to Ron on several occasions, coming up with a plan to sneak onto number four to visit the raven-haired Boy Who Lived.

“You’re such a worthless bitch, Anna!” Hermione’s scowl deepened at her father’s voice, and in an act Ron and Harry would no doubt claim she had been possessed during, she jumped from her seat and yanked open her door.

“Would you two keep it down? Some people are trying to do something useful with their lives!” She cried. There was a pause in the duo’s argument, before her father responded.

“Don’t make me come up there!”

“I dare you!” She replied, slamming her door shut before he could answer, locking it firmly.

A hoot from her desk drew her attention to Ron’s small owl, whom flapped his wings happily at her sudden attention. Her friend had written to her earlier, asking her if she had heard from Harry as of late. She had not gotten around to writing a reply.

The thought of Harry locked up in the Dursleys home, enduring the type of yelling and insults her parents shot at one another, struck something inside the honor student. Perhaps it was because of this, or maybe it was because of her sudden rush of rashness, Hermione scrambled to her desk, putting her prior idea to use, ignoring the now increased shouts of her parents.

Dear Ron…   
TBC 

If you like it, if you’ve read it and added it to your favorites, or me to your alert, review it. 

See, only slightly-suicidal Harry. I get points, no? Ha. Chapters will be getting darker people, I promise. Read the prelude, and you get a basic idea. Plus, the whole abuse thing has to play a role, as does Ron's guilt and Hermione's emotional unstableness. That's just the reality of it.


	3. Rescue

  
Author's notes: [HPLV slash] AU Fifth year. Dark Trio. Dumbledore should have realized he could not keep the Golden Trio under his thumb forever. There are secrets about Harry Potter that not even he knows, and some are much more bigger than others.  


* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, or any other character found within J.K. Rowling’s novels.

To My Readers: Thank you so much for your reviews. They really mean a lot. ^_^ See? Good reviews, quick update. -double beam-

Warnings: Extreme AU, child abuse, slash (quite a bit), and character bashing.

Chapter Two

St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, having been around since before 1706 A.D., was a historical building located outside the British magical community, hidden from the ever-wondering eyes of Muggles under the glamour of being a permanently-closed-for-refurbishment department store. As far as everyone knew, St. Mungos had five floors: Artefact Accidents (ground), Creature-Induced Injuries (first), Magical Bugs (second), Potion and Plant Poisoning (third), Spell Damage (fourth), and Hospital Shop and Visitors’ Tearoom (fifth). Seldom few were aware of the existence of the closed sixth floor, or even curious to know if the hospital had one, usually too caught up in the situation that brought them to the legendary hospital to ponder such things.

The sixth story had no official name, though the relatives of its wards would often bitterly refer to it as hell on earth. It was the home to empaths and seers, whose gifts had become too much for them to handle, or the victim was not yet ready to wield them. Ages ranged from six to one-hundred and seventy-five, the youngest having rooms filled with bright colors for them to see when they awoke from the magic-induced comas, the eldest having a priest (if they wished) to give them last rights. Since their unconscious states were caused by magic, only Muggle doctors, usually a squib or a family member of a Muggle-born, not a healer, that tended to them. Relatives were not able to sit with their loved ones for fear of making the matter worse with their own magical energy, and were instead forced to watch as needles and tubes were inserted with anxious, distrustful eyes.

Towards the back of the floor, next to a room farthest from all the other rooms, reserved only for those of high-standing, surrounded by several Ministry officials, strangely-garbed men and women who looked to be covered with dust, and curious onlookers, BlaiseArlian Zabini looked through one of these windows, onyx eyes emotionless as they watched a Muggle nurse dab the blood from Aberforth Dumbledore’s eyes, as another set to work bandaging the elderly wizard’s head. Thus far, the teenager had managed to avoid the demanding questions of the Aurors and reporters, with a little aid from the ever-secretive Munks, but he still had to be careful to avoid the eyes of the Minister, who seemed to jump at him with questions whenever he looked in the stout man’s general direction.

For four hours he had stood in his position, leaving only once, using the hospital’s emergency owlery to send a letter to his parents to explain what was going on, and for those four hours, he had watched his mentor be stabilized, undressed, examined, redressed, hooked onto machines he could not even begin to guess the names of, and now as the ancient wizard was cleaned up. There was truly no other place to look; glancing in any direction but forward seemed to be the equivalent of having a sign around his neck that said in big, bold letters “ASK ME QUESTIONS AND I’LL ANSWER THEM!”, whilst simply closing them brought forth the horrifying images of the morning, of the elderly man writhing on the ground as though being struck by ten Crucio curses, and the fateful words that left his lips…

“Good afternoon, Mr. Zabini.” Blaise’s mind snapped out of his thoughts at the unexpected words, his head whipping around to come face to face with the ever elegant, radiating-power Albus Dumbledore, whose sparkling blue eyes twinkled brightly at him, instead of on the form of his ill younger brother.

“Headmaster,” the Slytherin acknowledged, turning back towards the window to hide his sneer. He held no respect for his professor, having heard the countless tails of him from his parents and summer guardians, as well as from some of the senior Death Eaters he and Draco hung around with during meetings. He was rumored to be a selfish soul, who brought down Grindlewald’s mighty empire not by force of magic, but by betrayal and trickery. The Dark Lord was the only one who condoned this, claiming all was fair in war, and that technically, though dirty, Albus had played by the rules. But after having lived with the man for nearly five years, Blaise had formed his own hated opinions of the celebrated wizard.

“Did he say anything?” asked the Headmaster suddenly. “As this was happening?”

“Not a thing,” Blaise lied quickly, keeping his eyes locked firmly on his mentor to avoid proof of lying. He noticed the crowd had nearly disappeared, probably in an attempt to give the siblings some time alone, and in hopes of catching Blaise unawares as he left to do the same.

“Nothing?” pressed Albus, sounding slightly startled. “No name, or something that sounded like a broken text from a book?”

“No, sir.”

“How odd,” said the man thoughtfully. “The doctors I spoke with said things like this only happened after a fateful prophecy or the birth of a powerful being, to empath and seer respectively. Are you certain nothing was said?” A wrinkled hand landed softly on Blaise’s shoulder, and before he had time to process the contact, he found himself staring into a pair of ancient blue eyes, flashes of all the morning’s activities flashing through his mind, from waking up, eating, meeting with Master Galius, delivering the letter to Master Aberforth, leaving the stuffy library, Master Aberforth falling to the ground, the horrifying, pain-filled yell that had erupted from his lips before the words…

“There you are, Blaise!” As if someone had just snapped them away, Blaise’s mind cleared of his memories, and he found himself no longer staring into his headmaster’s eyes, but at the old man, who was now looking over his head, a disdainful look on his wrinkled face. Curious, the Slytherin turned his head, a small smile flickering across his face at the sight before him. Never before had he expected to see both male Malfoys inside St. Mungos, appearing as though, for once, they had not taken time to pamper themselves before leaving the manor – Draco’s hair resembled the just-got-shagged style of Harry Potter instead of the stiff-gelled look it commonly sported.

“Albus,” greeted Lucius stiffly when the two blondes reached them, not even attempting to hide his sneer as he addressed the enemy of his master. Professor Dumbledore simply twinkled madly at him, beaming and reaching into his robe pocket.

“Lemon drop?” He inquired cheerfully, withdrawing the tin and opening it right under Mr. Malfoy’s nose. The left upper corner of Lucius’ lip rose at the sight.

“I’m afraid I haven’t the time. Draco and I have just come by to retrieve Mr. Zabini. After this morning’s incident, his parents thought it best he be around friends.” Albus arched an eyebrow, casting an appraising look towards Draco, who mimicked the facial expression.

“Indeed?” He asked brightly.

“Indeed,” affirmed Lucius. “Mr. Zabini, your things? Narcissa is having the house prepared for your arrival, but I do believe a wardrobe would be in shortage.”

“My bags are down in the lobby with the greeting witch, sir.”

“Excellent. We must be going. If you will excuse us, Headmaster.” Without waiting for a reply, Lucius turned heel and strode down the corridor, cane clicking loudly on the tile.

“Come on, Blaise,” whispered Draco, grasping his friend’s elbow to lead him towards the exit. The raven-haired Slytherin spared one last glance at the slumbering figure on the bed, and then followed his housemate.

Albus watched them go before turning back towards his brother, all light leaving his face, leaving in its place a lax, wrinkled expression commonly found on the faces of sorrowful old men.

“I did tell you,” he said softly, reaching an aged hand to the glass. “I warned you, but you wouldn’t listen. Now look at what has become of you. I can only hope that he will not follow in your footsteps.”

.T.

It hurt. He would never deny that it hurt. And he cried because it hurt. He would never make up any lame excuses as to why he cried. Two weeks ago, had anyone asked, Harry Potter would have claimed that the most painful thing he had ever experienced was the Cruciatus curse Lord Voldemort had placed on him during the Third Task. He had thought he would never have to endure anything worse than that, because there was nothing worse than that.

He was wrong.

This was worse.

If no one had gone through what he had, a medieval torture that kept its victim alive, then they could not even begin to understand what it felt like – to have a knife plunge into your stomach, twist around, then be slowly pulled out, not even being able to verbalize your pain because your mouth was covered with pounds of duct tape, the have your nose plugged, unable to breathe, only having it released just before you blacked out. Having long gashes made across your chest and back, on the right side of your face, just below your cheekbone, in which your endless flow of tears would enter, making your entire face seem on fire. It was though he had been sent to purgatory, and in place of Satan, was Vernon Dursley, his goat wife, and their satanic devil child of which they were so fond.

The initial punishment had ended three hours ago, though to Harry, it felt as though it were still going on, with tiny Vernons inside of his body, pounding his organs and bones with tiny hammers and knives. His aunt had come up shortly after she arrived home to bandage his stomach wound, for fear it would cause infection and alert someone to her nephew’s treatment when he arrived at the school sick – or did not arrive at all. She had poured an entire bottle of bourbon on the puncture, with tape still firmly in place to block Harry’s screams, and had then covered it with a folded pillowcase, wrapping it tightly to his body with scotch tape before proclaiming him perfectly fit for evening chores, and ordering him to be downstairs by six o’clock to fix supper.

At the moment, Harry didn’t even think it possible to reach his bed, let alone walk down the stairs and stand at the stove.

“Bastards,” he rasped, green eyes flying to Hedwig as the owl hooted a soft affirmative. “The lot of them. If I could get up, I’d kill them…does that make me a bad person, Hedwig?” The snow-white creature simply cooed reassuringly as Harry’s head fell back onto the floor, wincing at the sound of Dudley stomping heavily down the stairs, calling out shrilly that he was going out with some friends and would be home in time for supper, slamming the door as he left, causing the whole house to shake and Harry’s head to bounce against the wood. He clutched it tightly in his hands and let out a pained hiss.

He had to be downstairs at six o’clock. That left him exactly forty-five minuets to find some way to get on his feet and walking.

For some reason, sitting through two hours of potions with Neville as his partner just seemed more appealing than his current situation.

.T.

From inside the Burrow, in the room farthest down the corridor, Severus Snape stuck another few books into an already nearly-filled, before sealing the cardboard contraption with a wave of his wand. To his left, a rather annoyed Charlie Weasley was vainly attempting to close his trunk; Severus could see sleeves of t-shirts and the legs of pants sticking out from under the lid.

“Folding those would help,” he pointed out to the redhead dryly. Charlie growled and sat on his trunk, closing it firmly, and fumbled for the latch.

“I’ve got it under control, thank you, Professor,” he snapped, his frown transforming into a smile as the lock clicked shut. The Potion’s Master, however, arched an eyebrow.

“Professor? I take it you are not thrilled at the aspect, either, then?” The second eldest Weasley snorted as he rose from his trunk, which gave a small groan, and ran a hand through his locks of hair.

“Of course I’m excited!” he exclaimed sarcastically. “I have to live in a flat in London, where, by the way, there happens to be no dragons of any sort, I have to work for some bloody organization I have no desire to even know about, and I have to put my damn life on hold for some stupid old man I thought I would never have to listen to again after I graduated! I’m so happy I want to dance.” He finished, and the two stared at one another for a moment, amber eyes to obsidian orbs, and then Severus spoke.

“I certainly hope you do not dance, else I would be forced to do something about it.”

“Promise?” asked the younger man mischievously, grinning. Severus chuckled lightly, aware of what the wizard was hinting at, though inside he felt sympathy for the younger man. It was not an easy task to give up your life love for something such as was his current task, a situation Severus was all too familiar with.

“I make no promises,” he said haughtily, turning his nose into the air as Charlie laughed. “Now, come. Let us get these…things down stairs before your mother decides our ears are more worthy of her screeches than your brothers.” He turned his back on his still chortling companion.

“Later, then.” And Severus offered no objections as the two headed downstairs.

.T. 

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches.

Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.

And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal.

And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live whiles the other survives.”

 

With a sigh, Albus pulled himself from his pensive, stumbling slightly as he did so, causing several firm grasps to reach out and steady him.

"I'm alright," he assured quickly, ancient blue eyes giving his helpers looks of gratitude as they released him, and made his way to his desk. He sat there for a moment, and as he did, no one made a sound, though they watched their leader with anxious eyes, fidgeting slightly in their seats as they awaited his words.

"You have heard it for yourselves," said Albus finally, voice grave as he looked around the room, gaze locking briefly with Alastor Moody as he continued. "The words of the prophecy located deep within the Department of Mysteries, and besides myself, are the only ones who have heard it all."

"I'm skeptical that it's true," voiced a youthful tone from the back; Nymphadora Tonks, fresh from Auror training. "It was Professor Trelawney." From beside her, Minerva shifted, sign enough to Albus to let him know that she agreed, which in turn caused him to frown, but before he could respond, another cut him off.

"Only real prophecies find their way to the Department of Mysteries," snapped Amanda Longbottom, looking at the girl sternly from under her vulture hat, which she had yet to remove. "Every educated witch and wizard knows that; my Frank and Alice did." Again, there was a moment of silence, this time for fear of saying something wrong about the currently insane Aurors that would offend the aged witch, whose gaze now rested on the Headmaster.

"So he'll need training...this year?"

"That would be the wise course of action," said Albus gently. "He's needed in this war...they all are."

"What about her?" Inquired Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, eyebrow raised. "I daresay she will not allow you to train students for a war the Ministry refuses to acknowledge."

"I daresay I have no care as to what Dolores Umbridge or the Ministry of Magic wishes for me to teach the children." The conversation continued with the new topic, the thirty-odd people in the Hogwarts Head's office not noticing Mrs. Longbottom's mournful expression, Tonks' constant yawning and bored daze, or Professor McGonagall's steely gaze of disapproval towards the Headmaster.

.T.

Dear Ron,

I haven’t heard from Harry, either. He’s not replied to any of my letters, and I’ve not caught even a glimpse of Hedwig. I talked to my mom about it, and she suggested going and visiting him. I plan to write to Dumbledore to ask permission.

Did I tell you I’m taking an art class during June? Our assignment right now is to draw what places look like at sunset (basically around seven). I wonder what King’s Cross looks like when the sun is setting; we’re always there during the morning and afternoon. 

My mum and dad are taking me to Diagon Alley today; I somehow managed to melt my cauldron making a potion in the Newt text I bought last year. Do you think you could meet me there? I don’t want to walk around there all by myself with just my parents (don’t know much magic, do they?), and then maybe we could go back to your house and I could firecall the Headmaster and ask him if we could go visit Harry.

Well, I’ve got to get ready. Don’t worry about replying, just meet me there around six thirty.

All my love,

Hermione

Ron Weasley let the parchment fall to his desk, a small smile on his lips as he rose and headed towards his closet. Leave it to Hermione to come up with something as simple, yet complex to tell her plan in a letter. He knew damn well she wasn’t taking an art class – she couldn’t even draw a stick figure right – and also knew she wasn’t going to Diagon Alley to buy a new cauldron, as it was highly unlikely that Hermione had botched up a potion bad enough to melt her old one.

He sorted through the Muggle clothes Bill had brought to him at the beginning of the summer, pulling a plain, long black short-sleeved shirt and a pair of black, chained pants off their hangers, which he quickly pulled on.

King’s Cross at six-thirty. Getting there wouldn’t be the problem; it was sneaking out of his house that would be hard. Fred and George had been roaming around the Burrow since they had found out about the move, searching for any products they may have lost or hidden, and seemed to pop up wherever it was he appeared.

He chuckled darkly as he heard Ginny tumble down the stairs, followed by what sounded as every possession she owned, and found himself rather glad he was not going with them – not that they knew this, of course. Professor Dumbledore had showed up last week, and he and Ron’s parents had sealed themselves in the kitchen for two hours, Molly coming out only to serve them lunch. The very next day, the two had held a family meeting (the last time they had had one was when Harry had first defeated Voldemort), and said, rather bluntly, that the entire family (Bill, Charlie, and Percy included) was moving into a flat in Muggle London, so that Dumbledore could use the Burrow as Head Quarters for some Order he had founded to fight the Dark Lord, as Sirius had refused to let him use his own home. Only he and Charlie had protested, as Percy and Bill had work not a block from their new flat, and the twins and Ginny ached for a change.

Brushing his red hair out of his eyes, Ron snatched several more clothes from his closet and laid them across the books in his trunk, folding them so they covered all the contents inside, and they were followed by his robes, a few books he had deemed worthy of spending precious time to read, and Harry and Hermione’s birthday presents, and then lightly closed the lid. With a small swish of his wand, the trunk shrunk down to the size of a small toy, and stuffed it one of his many pockets, thankful that the burrow had been made Unplottable..

“Fred, no!” Molly Weasley’s bellow made the entire house quiver. “Get your stuff and your brother and get down here! If you’ve forgotten anything, you can come back and get it later!”

Ron smiled as he walked through his door, grasping his letter on the way. His mother had just removed his biggest obstacle.

.T.

“What did it look like, Dad?” inquired Charlie in exasperation as he, Severus, and Bill continued to search through the many boxes, the first two looking annoyed, and the latter determined. The three sets of eyes turned to Arthur Weasley as the man tapped his chin thoughtfully, looking at the ceiling.

“Well…” he said slowly. “It was long…and black. It had my weekly payment from work in it, so it may jingle.”

“Very helpful,” sneered Severus, re-sealing the box and stepping back. “I’m done.”

“What was it called?” Tried Bill, digging through the contents of his own box. Over his bent form, Charlie sent Severus a pleading look, but the elder man ignored it. Boyfriend or no, he was not going to look through Merlin-knew how many packages for something he didn’t even know the name of.

A creak to his right caught his attention, and his gaze shot in that direction, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of the youngest male Weasley, dressed in all black with his wand in hand, sneaking down the stairs and towards the kitchen, snatching a black trench coat off the banister as he went. He glanced at his fellow wizards, but none of them seemed to have noticed.

“Mr. Weasley,” he called, and, much to his aggravation, all three men looked up. “You,” he specified tightly, pointing to Charlie. “A moment in the kitchen, if you would be so kind?” The two elder Weasleys went back to their searching as his partner made his way over to him.

“Is this about your promise, Professor?” he asked, smiling. His smile was quickly replaced, though, by an inquiring look as Severus, expressionless, grasped his lower arm and dragged him into the kitchen.

“Sev?” He pressed.

“Look,” commanded the Slytherin Head, nodding towards the window. Curiously, Charlie did so, frowning at the sight.

His youngest brother, his damp hair appearing brown because of the rain, lit his wand and stepped back, keeping his wand out before him. A moment later, the loud bang the accompanied the Knight Bus sounded, and it seemed that do to the ruckus in the family room, the rest of his family had not heard it, as no one came to investigate. Charlie watched in fascination as Ron approached the purple triple-decker bus, dug into the pocket of his coat and withdrew several glinting small silver coins, which he deposited into the outstretched hand of the highly recognizable Stan Shunpike, and boarded.

“Where the bloody hell is he going?” Muttered the dragon tamer under his breath as the bus disappeared with another loud bang. Severus could offer no reply, though his obsidian eyes narrowed in annoyance as Arthur’s voice rang throughout the house.

“I remember now! It’s called a ‘drench coat!’”

.T.

Hermione Alexandra Granger sat huddled under the small stretch of roof the ticket station of King’s Cross provided, feet settled atop her trunk, head rested on her knees as she hugged her legs to her chest. She stared out into the air, watching the raindrops hit the ground, and then glanced at the clock above the ticket booth’s window.

6:10. She turned back to watch the rain. Twenty minutes to go.

Hermione had dressed appropriately for the weather; faux dragon-hide boots she had purchased via owl order, blue-jeans, one of Harry’s Weasley jumpers he had jokingly bestowed upon her as a fourteenth birthday present (the Ponte Potions IV text was much more satisfactory, though she had also refused to return Harry’s sweater, much to his and Ron’s amusement), and a long, nylon red raincoat her grandmother had sent her last year.

A bright bolt of lightning slammed into the ground somewhere far ahead, and the Gryffindor didn’t so much as flinch at the boom of thunder that followed. Instead, she glanced back at the clock.

6:13. Seventeen minutes to go; time was not being kind to her, going as slowly as it was. Hermione turned back around just in time to spot another strike of lightning.

She wondered if her parents had noticed she was gone yet; last she had seen them, her mother had locked herself in her room, sobbing hysterically and sending valuables crashing into the wall, and her father had been sitting at the kitchen table, a vacant expression on his face as he stared at the wall.

She honestly had no idea what it was they were fighting about, and only knew that it had been going on for at least two weeks, which had been time enough for it to make her wish for their separation. Countless nights of being reduced to taking a home brewed sleeping potion because your parents were shouting so loudly that you couldn’t fall to sleep on your own was sure to cause some thought of that nature. Her eyes flew to the clock again.

6:20. Ten minutes. She could last for ten more minutes. They paled in comparison to the numerous hours that she had last seen her beloved friends.

However, before Hermione could return to her musings, a loud bang, similar to that of a gunshot, echoed across the buildings, and the teen covered her ears as the Knight Bus appeared, and Ron’s bright red head stuck out from the door, his face lighting up as his eyes landed on hers. Slowly, Hermione withdrew her hands from her ears, and her shocked look turned into a delighted one as her fellow Gryffindor bounded up to her, mindless of the rain, and enveloped her in a tight hug.

“I’ve missed you,” she murmured into his hair as she clutched at his lanky form. Always accountable to break an emotional moment, Ron snorted into her hair.

“You saw me two weeks ago!” He laughed as they pulled apart, holding her at arms length. “Though, I suppose I missed your constant nagging about how irresponsible I am.” Hermione just smiled as her red haired friend released her, and reached for her trunk.

“I never pegged you as one to travel the infamous Knight Bus, Ron. You looked sick whenever Harry talked about the experience of the ride…how many times did you throw up?”

“Stop banging on me, you slag!” Hermione laughed whilst Ron blushed as they boarded the bus, Hermione dumping the required pay in Stan’s palm as they went. “Let’s just see how long you last, eh?”

.T.

“It was like he was…reading my mind or something.” Blaise sat on Draco’s bed, lightly stroking his hand down Parcae, smiling as the Malfoy Kneazle let loose a choke-like purr of approval. From inside his walk-in closet, Draco gave a thoughtful grunt as he pulled yet another black with silver-trim robe, looked it over, and threw it to the floor.

“He probably was!” The blonde shouted, though the sound was still muffled to the other Slytherin’s ears. “Father claims he’s a skilled Legilimens. Did you have something important in that brain of yours he might want to know? Other then thoughts of a certain you know who.” Draco said the last part tauntingly as he stepped out of the closet.

“Only the prophecy Master Aberforth gave before he collapsed!” Cried Blaise sarcastically. This caught the blonde’s attention, and his trade Malfoy expression came in place.

“He didn’t hear it, did he? Because you know what Dumbledore would do if he got hold of information that was important enough to come from a Seer…it was important, right? Not just something like foretelling a drought or anything?” Blaise shook his head.

“It was important enough to get me to swear loyalty to someone else besides the Dark Lord.” At Draco’s astounded look he threw himself back on the bed and covered his eyes with his hands, ignoring Parcae’s attempts to comfort.

“I know, I know!”

“You’ve talked about serving Lord Voldemort since you were five, Zabini!” Exclaimed Draco, regaining his composure. “We both have. We were supposed to get initiated together after graduation! How could you have sworn yourself to another?”

“I’m aware of all that, Draco, but Merlin! The man was like my father, I would have sworn to shag his brother for the rest of my life if that was what he wanted!” The Slytherin visibly shuddered at the thought, and for a moment, the two remained silent, and then Draco spoke.

“So he didn’t hear it?” Blaise sighed and shook his head against the pillow, leaving strands of hair the blonde would angst over when he went to bed.

“No, you came in time. Maybe the Dark Lord will understand, and let me work like Severus does. Not against him, but not with him.” Draco nodded slowly in agreement.

“It’s a possibility…your plights are similar.”

“Yeah. And you know, it’s not like you’ll be getting initiated alone. Wasn’t Pansy going to do it with us, like an early wedding present or something?” Draco snorted and went back to his closet sorting.

“Pansy and I broke it off at the end of term. She fancies Theodore, and said we’d make much better friends than lovers, and that our kids would be horribly disfigured, because…er… I believe her words were “two positives equal a negative”…something about our looks.” Blaise chuckled.

“And what about you, Mr. Ice Prince? Whom is it his majesty fancies?” Draco came out, garbed in a maroon robe and medieval floopy English hat, its white feather hanging in front of his face.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

.T.

The most disgusting food God had put on this earth was pork. Harry despised it…hated it, even, more so than he hated Malfoy.

Well…no…he couldn’t exactly say that, because he didn’t hate the nasty little blighter…he just detested him.

More than detention, then.

“Watch what you’re doing, you little rodent! You’ll be eating it if it’s burnt!” snapped Aunt Petunia from the sink, where she was adding the finishing touches to Dudley’s salad.

At the beginning of the summer, Uncle Vernon had decided that Dudley, who had last an impressive one hundred and thirty pounds, would be allowed to compromise the school’s diet over the summer. He would still eat the salad the school had ordered him to have for dinner every night, but with that he would have steak, pork, and chicken on various days, along with potatoes, green beans, cabbage, and crisps respectively.

Of course, tonight, when it was all Harry could do to stand, His Highness had decided he wanted both pork and steak, which meant that he had to stand at the stove for a good two hours straight (Petunia had already defrosted them so her ‘ickle Diddydums’ could eat sooner) to make sure they came out perfect, not raw, but a little pink (and if it still leaked blood, all the better). From above him, the ceiling shook and creaked harshly, making Harry wonder if Dudley had brought his victim home with him – he’d gotten Mark Evans twice this week already, though granted, the kid looked none the worse for wear.

“It’s done, you idiot!” His Aunt shrieked suddenly, pushing him roughly aside as she bent to open the oven door. Harry’s side slammed into the counter, and he let out a soft cry which was drowned out by Petunia’s muttered string of curses as a big puff of smoke escaped the stove the same time as the pork… there wasn’t even any steak left to remove.

“You can say hello to your dinner!” She dropped the meat into the sink, turning on the water to cool it. She then picked up the bowl of potatoes and plate of crisps she had made, and thrust them at her nephew, and in sense, neither noticed the blood that was slowly beginning to form a stain on his flannel shirt, Harry assuming it just hurt more because of the connection with the counter.

“Go take these to Dudley, and knock, for goodness sake! Now I have to go make reservations…Vernon’s going to be furious!”

.T.

“I don’t like it.” Where the first words out of Hermione’s mouth as they stepped off the Knight Bus and onto the sidewalk entrance of Privet Drive. All of the houses were identical, as were the yards, the flowerbeds, and the white picket fences. There was no one outside, though Hermione could see someone from inside number two peeking out the window, their eyes scowling in their direction.

“These are the kind of Muggles the Wizarding World mocks. They're ignorant to everything that goes on outside their little street, and yet they criticize everything abnormal in the world.” Explained Ron as he tapped her trunk with his wand, shrinking it and stuffing it in with his. “Ourselves included.”

“No wonder Harry hates it here. It's like a scene out of Anthem...of course, that would make Harry Equality..."

"What are you going on about?"

"Muggle stuff...which house is it, do you know?" The person was still looking out the window, and Hermione, already anxious, stuck her tongue out and raised her middle finger, smirking as the eyes disappeared instantly.

"Very polite, 'Mione," chuckled Ron, shaking his head at his best friend's antics. "It's the second house on this side...c'mon, I want to see the Muggles' reactions when we walk in uninvited." The witch gaped at him in disbelief as they made their way to the driveway of number four.

.T.

For the first time that Harry could recall, Aunt Petunia had actually told him the truth without it being intended as spiteful.

Uncle Vernon was furious at having to spend money because of a mistake his good-for-nothing nephew had made.

His swolen right cheek being proof of it.

From the corner of the living room, Harry watched with dull eyes as his fuming uncle straightened his tie, glaring at his reflection in the mirror, and as his aunt attempted to button up Dudley's non-formal suit jacket with great difficulty, for once not because of his weight, but because whilst she was doing so, her precious son was bust stuffing crisps into his mouth, not seeming to mind the crumbs the crunchy food was getting on his jacket.

"Ten pounds just to get in," muttered Vernon darkly, finally triumphing over his tie and turning in Harry's direction. "Not to mention what the cost will be to eat. I am sure you are aware that your mistake will cost you a weeks supply of meals?"

"Yes, sir," replied Harry in monotone. A week of no meals would not be such as drastic change for him, since he was only permitted to eat twice a week as it was. However, his stomach seemed in opposite mind as his brain, and gave a soft, though very noticeable in the silence, growl, to which Uncle Vernon smirked viciously.

"I had Petunia throw out the pork - no sense giving food to someone who doesn't deserve it."

"Bloody hell!" Screeched Dudley at his father's words, jumping away from his mother and sending the now empty bowl flying to the floor in rage. "That still smelled edible! What did you toss it for?"

"Now, Diddydums," intervened Aunt Petunia quickly, reaching out to smooth her son's gelled hair. "Daddy and Mummy are going to buy you two pounds of pork at the restaurant, and they won't be over done or burnt, but still pink, just the way you like it! Won't that be better?" Dudley seemed to think on this for a moment, beady eyes still glaring in his father's direction, before he turned back to her, allowing her to finish her earlier task.

"I suppose."

A soft knock sounded against the door, along with what sounded like a whispered argument, ending any further protest and causing Uncle Vernon to scowl.

"Answer the door, Dudley."

"Why can't he do it?" Whined the obese teenager, sneering in Harry's direction, an action the Boy Who Lived ignored in favor of studying the floor.

"You know perfectly well why, now do as I say! And you," he rounded on Harry, raising his fist threateningly. "Get in the kitchen!"

.T.

Anna Granger rose from her floor after what seemed like hours (and most likely had been), blue eyes skimming over the millions of shattered pieces of glass, ranging from originating from a photo frame from a cherished figurine she had received from her grandmother. The room resembled something similar to a model design of several large buildings that had been knocked over with a wreaking ball... and then blown up. She doubted quite heavily that she would not cut her feet if she walked in any direction but that of the door...it would be hell to clean up.

It was now seven o'clock, and she realized this with a sigh. Her family usually had dinner around six thirty, and Hermione had not been present for breakfast or lunch, rather put off with her and Jacob's constant arguing. No doubt she was hungry, and maybe - just maybe - if she went down and prepared a grand dinner, she and her husband would be able to go through the meal without fighting, and nice, family bonding would take place.

Nodding in satisfaction of her plan, Anna gave one last despising glare to the mess she had created, and walked out her door, silently making her way down the carpeted hallway to Hermione's room, making certain to make no noise that would alert her daughter to her presence, allowing the girl time to make up an excuse to not attend, such as a homework potion that could not be left set. Gently, she rested her small hand on the doorknob, and, counting to three in her head, twisted it open and stepped inside.

"Hermione?" She called softly into the dark, as the lights were turned off and the blinds drawn closed. Receiving no response, she felt along for the light switch and flipped it on.

Hermione was nowhere to be seen.

Skewed across her bed were several books, some that Anna recognized as common classic novels, others as ones they had purchased on various trips to Diagon Alley. Her desk was clear of its usual scraps of parchment and quills, and, since the door was wide open, Anna was able to see that half of the closet was empty, hangers strewn about the floor, as was her dresser, whose drawers had just been tossed aside. But only one thing kept in the woman's mind.

Hermione wasn't there. Her daughter, her precious baby, was not in her room.

'You're just rushing into things, Ann,' she assured herself as she exited her daughter's room, latching the door lightly. 'She's probably downstairs with Jacob, eating some frozen food, laughing about what a child I am...'

But there was no laughter coming from downstairs, and when Anna entered the kitchen, it was only to find her husband sitting at the table, twisting a clear and empty bourbon bottle in his hand, studying it as though it was the most important thing in the world, their daughter no where in sight.

"Jacob," panted Mrs. Granger anxiously, resting against the doorframe. "She's gone."

Jacob Granger did not look up to meet the eyes of his wife, nor did he falter in his twisting of his bottle. Instead, a ghastly smile began to split across his face, and he uttered one small word.

"Good."

.T.

Hermione, which she felt very fortunate for, had managed to reach the door of Harry's relatives' house before Ron, and because of this, knocked, believing it would be much more effective if one of the Dursleys were to open the door to see a figure with a wand than the two of them barge in, risking the chance of no one being in the living room to witness the entrance. She smiled happily as Ron grumbled from behind.

"Bitch," he growled sourly.

"Oi! It's not my fault you tripped, Ronald. Perhaps if you tied your shoes-."

"I'm wearing boots, thank you very much!"

"Well, maybe if you wore some that fit, then it wouldn't be such a problem."

"Bitch," Ron concluded, stepping back incase Hermione decided to physically retaliate. However, before the witch could do anything of the sort, the lock on the door clicked, and bother Hogwarts students' attention turned towards the door as it opened.

"I'm sorry, but we're going out tonight...who are you?" The polite, dignified instantly changed into a sneering one, as did the fat face of the blonde haired boy who spoke them.

Hermione had heard of Dudley from both Harry and Ron, but having never been unfortunate enough to have met him, thought their description of him to be slightly exaggerated. However, as she stared into his face, it was, if anything, understated. He was the classic physical example of a rich, spoiled school bully.

Ron cleared his throat softly, drawing Hermione's attention back to the situation at hand, and she smiled sweetly at her best friend's horrific cousin.

"We're friends of Harry's from school. Is he in, by any chance?" She asked softly.

Dudley paled drastically, and began to tremble as he caught sight of the red-haired wizard behind her, remembering his encounter with the boy from last year.

"N..no..." He stuttered hopefully. "He's at camp...for the summer. Wo...won't be back for-." Dudley fell silent as a rather long piece of wood appeared right before his nose, and his blue eyes traced it back to the figurethat had been his object of fear merely a moment prior.

"I wouldn't lie to the lady, mate. She's top in our school; knows everything. Not to mention that she has a rather nasty temper." Said the teenager lazily, smirking.

"Dudley!" Called the overly-sweet voice of his mum. "Who is it? Don't be rude, invite them in."

"Yeah, Dudley, invite us in." Pressed the girl as she, too, withdrew her own wand, and gave it a little wave towards the door, smiling brightly.

Without much a choice, Dudley slowly backed away from the door, allowing the two room to enter.

.T.

'At least they're consistent.' Thought Ron as he followed Dudley and Hermione into the living room, noticing the only thing that had changed was the now restored fireplace. The walls were stilled littered with countless pictures of Harry's cousin, and the mantles (also covered with similar pictures) were still dustless, and the floor was still spotless. Even those who had occupied the room upon his first arrival, save Harry, stood within it, in almost the exact same spots, his friend's uncle even having the same facial expression and color.

"What the bloody hell are you doing in my house!" He roared, fists clenched and body shaking. From beside him, his wife vainly attempted to shield her son's massive body with her own whilst she glared at them.

As it became clear that Ron had no intention of speaking, Hermione adopted her best puzzled expression, and cocked her head slightly to the side.

"Your son invited us in," she stated innocently, twirling her wand between her fingers, making sure all three Muggles had perfect view of it. "We've come to see Harry."

Vernon, however, seemed intent not to appear intimidated.

"He's not here! Now get out!" He boomed, thrusting a fat finger towards the door to clarify his words. This time, Ron did speak, and unlike Hermione, had no intention of being discreet about his magical ability, raising his wand to point directly at Vernon's chest.

"Patience gone now. Where's Harry?" No reply was given, so with a sigh, Ron gave his wand a sharp wave, and the next instant, a large pair of floppy brown rabbit ears sprouted from Petunia's head. As the woman shrieked and her husband attempted to stop her and remove them, Ron turned to Hermione, looking mildly surprised by the result of his actions.

"Interesting. I've never managed to do that before. Do you think McGonagall will award me points or detention?"

"Detention," answered a new voice before Hermione had a chance to respond. Both whirled around, gasping at the sight of their best friend, who was leaning rather heavily against the doorframe of the kitchen.

He was thinner than usual, much too thin for it to be written off as a result of high metabolism. He was pale too, and bruised, the most noticeable being the one on the right side of his face. To Ron, he looked like the bad guy in one of the Muggle movies he and the twins had snuck in to see ages ago.

Hermione instantly rushed to him and grabbed him in a bone crushing embrace, Ron and being the only one who noticed the wincing and biting of the lip that resulted as the raven-haired Gryffindor timidly hugged her back, as Vernon had now gotten hold of his wife, and, with the help of Dudley (who was holding her down), was pulling at her ears, mindful of her cries of pain as he did so.

"What are you two doing here?" Harry wheezed as the brunette finally released him. "And what did you do to her?" His emerald eyes landed on his screaming aunt.

"I believe the better question would be what did they do to you?" Corrected Ron, stepping forward slightly. His friend looked down sheepishly as Hermione's hand landed on his shoulder.

"Well, we came to see you," she stated. "Though I guess now we'll have to take you with us."

"Gee, thanks." Came the dry reply as Vernon rose at Hermione's words.

"Now you wait just a minute! That boy isn't going anywhere; we're under specific orders to keep him here!" Ron turned from his friends and glared at the seething older man.

"Shove it, Dursley, you're in enough shit as it is." He snarled and brought up his wand. "Breptus!" Petunia began shrieking again as she stared at the small glass jar that sat in the place her husband had just been standing, and the small figure within it.

"The same goes for you, ma'am," assured Ron as he picked the shrunken Vernon Dursley, who pounded against the glass furiously. "Ap ap ap," he sang, shaking the bottle. "None of that. Be quiet, Mr. Dursley, and I'll let you live for a little while longer."

"You shouldn't have done that, Ron," said Harry softly as Hermione led him into the living room. The redhead's blue eyes softened, though he scoffed at the words.

"You're too kind hearted for your own good, Harry. He deserved much worse than this." He pocketed the jar as the Gryffindor Golden Boy shookhis head.

"Not that; there's wards around this house, Ron."

"The Ministry," realized Hermione softly.

"Here, mate," Ron drew off his trench coat, accompanied with the now quiet Vernon, and draped it across Harry's shoulders. "You look like death." He grinned slightly at Harry's weak scowl. "Do you know how far the wards extend?"

"You can feel them, if you try hard enough. You know when they end. We'll just have to walk around...damn."

"What?"

"Hedwig. She's still in her cage-."

"Don't worry. I'll get her." Offered Hermione, waiting for Ron to grab Harry's other arm before taking off for the stairs. "Anything else?"

"My Invisibility Cloak and photo album are under the loose floor board."

"Your wand?" Harry shook his head, and Hermione, not wanting to press, ran up stairs.

"You can't leave!" Cried Dudley suddenly, who was still kneeling by his dazed mother. "You have to fix her!" Ron rounded on him, careful to not jolt Harry in any way.

"We don't have to do anything. Just be thankful she's not going to meet the same fate as your father. Now shut up before I complete the job a wizard tried to do to you all those years ago." Dudley turned ashen, his mouth clamping tightly shut as his eyes turned back to his mother, who was now stoking her new ears. Harry would have laughed had the sight not been so sad.

"Ron, perhaps you should change them back." He beseeched. "They didn't do anything..." Ron's eyes rolled skyward.

"Harry, if you still feel that way come next summer, then by all means, I'll do so, but right now, it's my revenge...did you get them?" His attention had turned to Hermione, whose face was a little green, who nodded, holding up the cage and materials as proof.

"Alright then. Let's get out of here."

.T.

"The boy's a nuisance," growled Cornelius Fudge to the woman beside him as he walked out of his office. "His story has several of the most well respected families on my case about its possible truth, especially those who know the Diggorys." Dolores Umbridge nodded, looking thoughtful.

"He needs to be silenced."

"Indeed he does, and I wouldn't say no to having Dumbledore be, as well. But you know how powerful that man is. There's no way possible to talk to that boy with him around. At this rate, I'll lose the upcoming election...yes, Nancy, I'm leaving. Feel free to go once you have the paper work completed."

"Yes, Minister Fudge," came the monotone reply of his secretary as she glanced mournfully at the large stack of papers left on her desk.

"There's a good girl...are you coming, Dolores?" The stout woman smiled sweetly from beneath her bright pink hat, and spoke with just as much sugar as she showed.

"Not for a while, I'm afraid, Cornelius. I have quite a bit of paperwork to do myself." Fudge nodded, slipping on his cape and hat from the tree that held them.

"Very well. Try not to stay up too late, we have that meeting tomorrow."

"Of course."

"Good night then, Dolores, Nancy."

"Good night, Minister." The two women chorused, and the man beamed a smile at them before closing the door. After waiting a moment to make sure he was actually gone, and had not forgotten something, Dolores turned to his secretary.

"Nancy, dear, you may go ahead and go. I'll take care of this paperwork for you." The young curly haired witch looked momentarily thankful, but then somewhat unsure.

"Are you certain, ma'am? What about your own work?"

"Don't be silly, dear, it's not nearly as much as this. Go on, I'm sure Nicholas is waiting." The younger woman beamed, and voicing a thousand thank yous, gathered up her things and took off out the door.

"Stupid girl," muttered Dolores as she went into her office, taking out a piece of parchment and a quill.

Harry Potter has been sentenced to the Kiss. I require you and one of your very best for this mission. I want this done before sunrise. Do not disappoint me.

It was brief but official, and Dolores quickly sealed it into an envelope and tied it to the leg of her personal owl.

"To Azkaban, Cain, and quickly. This is of the utmost importance. Do not lose it."

The silver owl hooted an affirmative and flew out the window into the twilight sky. Noting this with a sense of satisfaction, Umbridge grabbed her own coat and closed up her office, pausing as she passed the secretary's desk.

"Tsk, tsk. It appears Cornelius will have to hire a new secretary." And with that, she followed the same path as the other two, and exited the building.

.T.

They made their way down Wisteria Walk, Harry sandwiched between Ron and Hermione, Hedwig flying happily above them. The raven-haired boy was doing his best not to show his fatigue or the extent of his injuries, especially now that he had noticed his opened wound, to which he kept Ron's trench coat pressed, but he was sure they suspected something more than bruises and malnutrition.

"Stupid Dumbledore." He heard Hermione grumble as they turned onto Magnolia Crescent, and a small smile split onto his face.

"It seems you've spoken too soon, 'Mione. We're out." A huge smile spread over the Gryffindor's face at his words, and she fell to the ground in relief, instantly withdrawing her wand and holding it in Ron's face.

"Tell me how to fix it," she commanded, causing the redhead to sigh.

"I already told you, Hermione, I'll have to do it." He tried to reach for the wand, but the girl withdrew it and scowled.

"You can tell me how and I'll use your wand to do it." Ron growled in aggravation.

"My wand won't work for you."

"Yes, it will."

"No, Hermione, it won't."

Harry sighed at the beginnings of what promised to be at least a ten-minute argument, and, feeling his energy depleting, sat down a few feet from the two, and called Hedwig to him.

"Looks like we're finally out," he said softly to the amber-eyed creature, stroking her lightly. The snowy owl's feathers ruffled, and she gave an annoyed hoot, butting her head against his stomach pointedly.

"I know, I know," he assured. "I'll tell them when we settle somewhere. I don't want them to worry right now. I mean, look. They're...having fun, I think." Two sets of eyes turned towards the still bickering duo, and it looked as though Hermione was winning the quarrel, as she currently had both her and Ron's wands in her hands. Now it appeared, however, that Ron was reluctant to give over the spell, lest something go wrong because of Hermione using a wand that was not her own. Hedwig looked slightly doubtful, and Harry chuckled lightly.

"As close to fun as their going to have for a while, us being fugitives and all... kidnapping a Muggle and disfiguring another is not going to look good on an Auror resume...is it getting cold?"

'No...please'

"Harry!" The raven-haired boy shot out of his daze at Hermione's shriek, his emerald eyes quickly finding the forms of his friends, who were slowly backing in his direction. "Dementors."

He sought out the familiar forms of the Dementors, and found them almost instantly, gliding towards the trio through the park, once blooming, colorful flowers dieing in their wake.

'Not Harry...please.'

"Get out of here!" Bellowed Ron, raising his wand and attempting the Patronus charm. He and Hermione had split up, the latter taking on the larger one, whilst the former took on the one who appeared more aggressive in his pursuit. Harry rose from his spot slowly, and Hedwig took to the air, hovering over the scene.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Cried Hermione, not caring that her wand had not yet been stripped, and both her and Harry watched as a silver stream erupted from it and struck the Dementor, both going numb as the being was not in the least bit fazed. But the creature came no closer to her, instead, backing off slightly, its face turned towards Harry.

Ron was much more worse for ware, having not even studied the technique for banishing a Dementor, and was tumbling over the words.

"EXPUCTO PATRONUS!" His ice blue eyes went wide as a necklace of intertwined flowers appeared in his hand.

"Shit, no, er, EXPERCTU..." Harry watched in horror as Ron grew quiet and fell to his knees, the Dementor coming closer incredibly fast, and his adrenaline grew as Ron began to yell in pain. He had to do something...but his wand...

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Shouted Hermione, who, too, had been watching the scene. The silver was more defined this time, and as it connected with the Dementor, Harry was certain he saw the animal be forced back and turn. The effort had spared Ron some time, but the looming creature had now set its sight on Hermione, and was gliding more quickly than before...closer...and closer...

"EXPECTO PARTRONUM!" Harry's voice broke through the silence that had covered the street, throwing his hand out before him, and watched in pure astonishment as a perfectly formed stag...Prongs, erupted from his palm, and, without waiting for instruction, rammed into the Dementor, destroying it instantly.

"The other one!" Harry cried, motioning towards the remaining Dementor. Prongs turned towards it, and began to run towards it, but before it could make it within five feet, the Dementor raised a claw-like hand, waved it, and the patronus evaporated instantly.

The three (Ron had now recovered enough to stand), watched in stunned terror as the Dementor began to majestically glide towards Harry, its head bowed.

'Please, not Harry. Have mercy, have mercy!'

"Harry, run!" Cried Hermione, but Harry could not find it in him to comply, something flowing over him, something calm...telling him it was alright...to stay...coming from the Dementor. Ron and Hermione's shouts were blurred and unidentifiable.

'Please, not Harry. Take me instead!'

The Dementor grew closer, and the feeling intensified, and its head bent towards Harry's face, and as Harry could feel the darkness closing in on him, he could almost swear he saw eyes.

'Harry...'

TBC


	4. Lords and Ladies

  
Author's notes: [HPLV slash] AU Fifth year. Dark Trio. Dumbledore should have realized he could not keep the Golden Trio under his thumb forever. There are secrets about Harry Potter that not even he knows, and some are much more bigger than others.  


* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, or any other character found within J.K. Rowling’s novels.

To my readers: Thank you so much for your reviews! I dedicate this chapter to all of you ^_^

Warnings: Extreme AU, slash, themes of child abuse, OOCness, and character bashing.

Chapter Three

(Three minutes prior to the Dementor attack)

“Blaise!”

The resounding, booming voice of Draco Malfoy shook the walls of the southern wing of Malfoy Manor, and any house-elf that had been in that part of the infamous mansion popped away with a small squeak as the steaming Malfoy heir stormed his way down the corridor, clothed only in a blue silk robe and dripping wet, throwing open the last door on the left, snarling madly as he locked eyes with the occupant of the room.

“Where,” he panted, silver eyes flashing. “Is it?”

Blaise cocked his head to the side slightly, obsidian orbs dancing with unhidden amusement, an innocent look playing on his face.

Even the naïve Neville Longbottom could have seen through the angelic reply. “Where is what, Draco?”

“Do not play games with me, Blaise Arlian Zabini,” hissed the blonde-haired Slytherin. “Where is it?” The other looked around the bed upon which he sat, still feigning innocence, and picked up one of the many pillows that rested on the headboard.

“Is this what you’re looking for, Draco?” He asked in mock confusion. However, before the seething wizard could snap a reply, Blaise reached into the pocket of his robe, and withdrew a small, finely crafted glass bottle, the words ‘Bene’s Agnus Dei’ written in calligraphy across it. “Or is it this?” He put the object close to his nose, as though studying it intensely. “I went to your room, intending to hide your beloved hair gel, when I came across this sitting in the middle of your dresser. Now, what I can’t understand, is why you, a boy, and a very straight boy at that, has women’s perfume on his dresser. And don’t even tell me it’s Pansy’s, because it’s unopened, and you and I both know that that girl can’t have something for any longer than two minutes without opening it. So spill it.”

Draco stared at the bottle and Blaise’s hand a moment, debating whether or not he could Accio it to him, or simply wrestle it out of the other boy’s grip, but canceled both ideas when Blaise’s hold on it tightened, a knowing look in his eyes. The fire slowly dissipated from the blonde’s own pools, and with a sigh, he muttered the reasoning under his breath.

Blaise struggle to retain his snort at his friend’s submission; it was a rare sight indeed to see Draco in such a situation, and he loved to revel in each and every one.

“Sorry,” he said cheerfully. “I didn’t hear that.”

“I said,” repeated Draco, more loudly this time. “That it’s a birthday present for my mum.” Blaise couldn’t contain his snort this time, and his laughter grew even more at the putout look that formed on his now dry porcelain face.

“You’re a horrible liar, Draco…at least to me. Your mum’s birthday was last month.” A smile cracked its way across his face as realization dawned. “It’s for her, isn’t it? The girl you like?” The grin reached the lobes of his ears as a fait pink tint formed on Draco’s face. “It is!”

“Sod off, Zabini,” he snapped, reaching vainly for the perfume. “I’ve sent her cards for the past three years. I thought it would be a nice change. Now give it.” He reached for the bottle again, growling as Blaise pulled it away just as he fingertips brushed the fine glass.

“I will gladly hand it over to you, my dear Mr. Malfoy, in exchange for the name of the maiden that has melted the heart of the great Ice Prince,” offered the raven-haired teen; he barely jumped away as Draco pounced for him, the cry of “Never!” muffled by the pillows. For a few moments, the two wrestled, like two five-year-olds on a playground, before Blaise jumped away, laughing, though trying to be serious as he spoke.

“Dr-Draco, unless this is your way of telling me you want to find out how it feels to be a submissive gay man, I suggest you…cover yourself up.” Draco’s flushed face went crimson as he caught sight of his nude form, though he covered up his embarrassment quickly and smiled enticingly at his friend.

“Why?” He questioned. “Don’t you like what you see?” Blaise just shook his head and tossed the bottle of perfume at the blonde.

“Just get out of here, you nutter, and take that damnable thing with you.” Draco joined in on the laughter, retying his robe and rising to his feet, bottle clutched tenderly in his hand.

“If only I were Weasley,” he sighed dramatically, shooting the Slytherin a sly look. Blaise opened his mouth to retort, but before the words could leave it, he clutched his chest and groaned as a sharp, searing pain shot through him. Draco’s humor was instantly gone from his face.

“Blaise?”

Pain…darkness…screaming…

“Blaise?”

Another, far more intense pain stabbed into his chest, making his veins feel as though they were on fire, and a loud, piercing scream erupted from hiss lips as the scene around him went dark.

“Blaise!”

Draco rushed forward to catch him as he fell, swearing under his breath as he held the younger boy’s lithe frame, the bottle of Bene’s Agnus Dei lying forgotten, pouring its contents onto the floor.

.T.

He waited patiently for the soul to come out. There was no need for hurry, truly. The other two humans could not break through his barrier with their pitiful attempts at the Patronus Charm, nor could they approach him close enough without suffering his affects themselves, and the Ministry, should they come because of their use of magic, would do nothing to stop him, as it was they themselves that had ordered the Kiss on this boy.

He looked down at his victim. Oh, yes, he would enjoy taking the soul from this one. This...wizard...had destroyed his apprentice, his favorite Dementor. He had created Bene himself; had stolen the soul from a random prisoner and spent days tarnishing it. And that was how Dementors were born, by a tarnished soul being placed into a magical body. The darkness could not be handled by the human structure, and so they would twist and bend, and they would fade until the human was human no more.

A large something crashed into his back, shaking his focus on his task. Slowly, he turned his head, pale yellow eyes locking with fearful, albeit determined brown, and defiant, desperate blue. He had no time for these children, unusual though they were, and so, with a wave of his hand, froze them where they stood. Maybe he would have them turned as well, by some of his lesser Dementors, if he could spare their time.

A burst of bright light drew his attention back to the boy, and he stared hungrily at the soul that slowly began to creep its way from its master's mouth. It was so light, so pure. He desperately wanted to inhale it, to savor the taste of innocence he had not tasted in such a long time. He needed not a new apprentice; he was certain there were several others within his citadel that would suffice. His eyes glowed with desire as the soul completely left the body, and began making its way towards his mouth. Oh, how he longed for it...

Suddenly, behind him, there was a loud swooshing noise, similar to the one heard from a helicopter, and the next thing he knew, he had fallen to the ground, with something on top of him

“Ah, Lord Azkaban,” mocked a melodic voice. “The half-man, half-Dementor who was made ruler of Azkaban Prison one thousand years ago by our Lord Prince. You have not left your citadel in quite some time, my Lord.”

The pressure from his back subsided, and Lord Azkaban instantly rose to face his attacker, yellow eyes widening slightly as he did so.

It was a woman. Her skin was white, nearly blending in with the robes she wore. Her face was ageless, though the amber eyes they harbored were filled with enough knowledge to put those of Albus Dumbledore to shame. Her face was framed by long, white hair that had a streak of black running down each side.

“Lady Phoenix,” he muttered, voice raspy, as one would expect from such a creature. The woman, however, was not looking at him, but at the boy, whose soul still floated just outside his mouth, waiting to be taken.

“What have you done, Azkaban?” She whispered in horror, turning her amber eyes upon him. “Have you any idea what you have done?”

“I was following orders!” He snapped defensively. “I was told by the Council to play my role with the Ministry until-.”

“Please!” Interrupted Lady Phoenix with a snarl. “You have not followed the wishes of the Council for the past seven hundred years. We knew that you had betrayed your word on the Oath; had sworn your allegiance to another besides our Lord. And now!” She motioned wildly to the three children. “You have changed them with your tricks! Fix it!” She saw his hesitation, and outstretched her left arm, a small, clear, glass-like dagger appearing in it instantly. The blue hilt glimmered as she spoke, voice sardonic and threatening. “The price for your crimes now is court, my Lord, but should you endanger his life further, I will deem them worthy of death. Now, fix it.”

Lord Azkaban looked cautiously at the three, and noticed that the boy’s soul had turned from white to a bright coral orange. He turned his eyes back to the armed Lady. “Milady, please,” he beseeched. “It, it will change him-.”

“No more so than you already have done, my Lord,” she said emotionlessly, though her hand tightened slightly on the blue hilt. With a sigh, Azkaban turned back to the soulless creature, focusing on the soul, mentally returning it to the body before him. When the glow faded, the boy remained, paler than before, with ragged breathing as his essence returned to its normal place. As an after thought, he waved his hand towards the remaining two, ignoring their large intakes and gasps for breath as he turned back to Lady Phoenix, who was studying him with an cool expression on her face.

“Go,” she said suddenly, catching him off guard. “You will hear of this at the next Summit.” She clenched her fist, drawing blood as the knife slowly disappeared. She arched a slim eyebrow at Lord Azkaban.

“And the children…the Prince? Does he know?”

“That is my concern!” She sneered at him. “Now go, before I find my leniency misplaced…” Her hand twitched slightly, and Lord Azkaban, not wanting to see if the rumors of the legendary saint were true, dematerialized away.

With a sigh, she turned towards the three children, smiling slightly as her lord’s chosen raised their wands at her, and as her lord himself took on an offensive position.

“You have no need to fear me,” she assured as she neared. “I am merely here to make sure you have a safe journey to your destination.”

“Who are you?” This question came from Harry, who pushed past his two friends, breathing ragged from his previous predicament, yet still defiantly holding his ground. Lady Phoenix’s smile grew at his inquiry, and moved closer towards them so that he could get a closer look, chuckling slightly as he gasped.

"Hedwig." The others' eyes widened in realization, though the girl, true to her personality, as always, studied her closely.

"Yes." She nodded and approached them further; Harry pushed away from his friends to do the same. However, before another word could be spoken, a series of pops and cracks could be heard faintly from what they all knew was Privet Drive. Hedwig's face instantly went grim.

"My dear Harry," she said softly, eyes filled with sudden sympathy. "How I wish there was time to fully explain this to you, to all of you. It is not something you should have to learn on your own. Alas," she threw a glance towards the street they had escaped from. "That is not the case."

"Hedwig, what are you talking about?"

"I can go with you no further from here," she said softly, reaching out a hand to stroke his cheek. "My duty to you, for now, is complete. You have a far greater destiny than destroying Dark Lords, Harry, greater than even Albus Dumbledore can begin to imagine. You can no longer trust him." She leaned forward and placed a kiss to his scar, and, ignoring his confused and somewhat pained expression, looked up to face Ron and Hermione.

"You, also, are no longer just a witch and wizard. Protect him, help him."

"What are you going on about?" Demanded Ron, finally annoyed. Hedwig's smile returned slightly.

"There is no time to explain. Due to her use of magic," she nodded towards Hermione. "It will not be long before they come here, as well. Strip her wand."

"Hedwig."

The Lady Phoenix turned back to her former master at the sound of her name. His emerald eyes were raised, and she, for the first time in the past four years, could not read his emotions clearly, unable to tell if the pain in his eyes was from her poorly explained departure, or from his own wounds. Instead, she merely stroked his face again.

"I'm sending you someplace safe, where they will not think to find you. I can only hope you will find a more faithful familiar than myself." And before any of them could make an ounce of protest, she waved her hand, and the three of them vanished in much the same fashion as the Dementor Lord.

"My apologies, my Lord," she whispered to the now empty area, the vision of Harry's heart rendering emerald eyes still fresh in her mind. "Good-byes are not necessary when one plans to meet again."

She closed her eyes and pictured herself as the owl she had been for the last four years, and within a moment, was the owl. She spread her wings and took off into the sky, mentally laughing as five pops sounded below her on Magnolia Crescent. The Order was late, as always.

'Now,' she thought. 'On to my next assignment.'

. T.

Some seventy-five miles away, Charlie Weasley stood at the window, arms wrapped about him as he stared out into the rainy night. Around him, chaos ensued, Ginny’s high-pitched questions of progress of Ron’s whereabouts, along with the normal chaotic routines of the Twins causing him a rather large headache.

“This only provides support for me suggesting you to move in,” whispered a voice in his ear huskily. Charlie smiled slightly, brown eyes darting to the side to view the reflection of his lover, whose eyes held just as much annoyance at their surroundings as his own. “How are you holding up?” Inquired Severus seriously. The dragon tamer offered a shrug and another small smile, but when the Potions Master took on the pointed, superior look he often used on his students, Charlie dropped the façade with a sigh.

“I’m worried,” he admitted, not turning from the window. “Worried about why Ron ran off, where Ron ran off. I mean, I know he’s hotheaded, but he’s so dependant on Mum and Dad to set things for him-.”

“Was dependant,” corrected Severus lightly, smiling as Charlie chuckled. “He’s changed since he got home this term; it would take a fool not to have noticed it.” Neither flinched as a bolt of lightning cracked across the sky.

“Mum’s going to go and talk to Dumbledore. She wants adds all over the front page of the Daily Prophet.” Now Charlie did turn to his lover, leaning slightly into him, mindful that there were several around who would find him and Severus snuggling somewhat odd. The Potions Master let loose a more forceful breath than was normal, causing the red locks of Charlie’s hair to blow back, soothing him. It was a common practice of his lover, though it was usually done during more…private…moments. “Will you go with her, Sev? I know something bigger is going on than just Ron being a normal teenager. Something’s up.” He raised his pleading brown eyes up to meet emotionless obsidian ones. “Can you find out what’s going on?”

Severus groaned in mock exasperation, and pretended to mull over the idea, much to Charlie’s amusement. Finally, he feigned a long-suffering sigh, and nodded.

“I’ll be back with word as soon as I can. Try and relax.” He placed a chaste kiss to Charlie’s lips, before spinning around and heading for the fireplace, where Molly’s voice could be heard announcing her departure, robes billowing behind him. The younger wizard watched the Potions Master’s backside appreciatively, before he turned and made his way to the living room to finish packing his things, oblivious to the disgusted look he received from a pair of brown eyes from the stairwell.

.T.

"Wormtail..." The pained, wheezy voice flowed across the room, and the one for which it called shuddered slightly as he neared the speaker.

"My...My Lord?" stuttered Wormtail in a squeaky voice.

"What is taking...so long? Why isn't it...working?" Hissed his lord in the same pained tone. Wormtail squeaked as he zoomed to the other side of the bed in the master bedroom of Riddle Manor, fluffing pillows with his silver arm.

"Oh, bu-but it is, my Lord!" He insisted assuredly. "You are loo-looking stronger every day." And the Death Eater was not lying. Where two weeks ago Lord Voldemort had been the epitome of a snake-man, he now had the fully and finely developed face of his thirty-year-old self. His structure was no longer thin and pale, but rather filled out and complete with a healthy glow. Many a lowly Death Eater had met their fate in this room over the past two weeks, when they had failed to show their lord proper respect due to ignorance of his identity.

"Then why...don't I feel it!" Demanded Voldemort harshly. "Every day I feel pain...in my back, as though I am being struck...with something, and aching in my bones as...though they were broken. And now I have this...terrible pain in my...stomach...as though I've been stabbed." Wormtail fidgeted with the comforter nervously.

"Perhaps it is just a side effect of the potion, my Lord," he offered. The suggestion did nothing to soothe the Dark Lord, and instead resulted in a loud, pain-filled and ferocious roar emitting from his mouth.

"Snape!"

.T.

"They are...concerned, Albus," said Severus softly as he stared at the cup of tea in his hands. "It's like a circus over there - maddening! I could care less where the boy is myself, Headmaster, but I do rather value my sanity..." He drew off and eyed the ancient wizard across from him, looking for any signs that the man might know where his lover's younger brother was. However, all he could see was a puzzled old man, looking down gloomily at his desk, where numerous papers were scattered.

"As I told Molly, Severus, there is no reason to believe he is any danger. In fact, if my assumption is correct, it is actually quite the opposite." Severus quirked an elegant eyebrow.

"Sir?" He inquired. Albus did not answer him, and instead lifted up the stack of papers from his desk, peering at them through his half-moon spectacles. Severus was about to assume he was ignoring him when the Headmaster spoke.

"This," he said, holding up one of the papers. "Is a letter from Mrs. Anna Granger, regarding the sudden disappearance of her daughter. This," he held up another. "Is a letter from the Ministry of Magic, claiming magic was used at number four, Privet Drive, where Mr. Potter lives during his summer vacations. And this," He held up yet another. "Is another letter from the Ministry claiming that the wand registered to Ms. Hermione Granger was responsible for several attempted Patronus Charms on Magnolia Crescent, which is just down the road from Mr. Potter's residence." He set down the rest of the papers, massaging the bridge of his nose. "I have just spent the last two hours with the Minister of Magic, trying to convince him, by all means necessary, that neither Mr. Potter nor Ms. Granger are to be punished or expelled for their actions."

"And?" Pressed Severus, inwardly sighing with relief. Charlie could rest easy tonight, but as for Mr. Potter…

"I was able to get Ms. Granger out, due to her record, but Cornelius is now personal against Harry. He must stand trial in two months for his magic use, or face expulsion."

"I see." It was all Severus had wanted for the past four years that Harry Potter had attended Hogwarts, but now that is was an actual possibility, he felt…rather odd, as though he did not want it.

“It angers me, Severus,” Albus admitted after a few moments of silence, and the Potions Master eyes him with puzzlement as he continued. “It infuriates me that after all I have done for him, Harry still does as he thinks is best. It’s like he has no trust in me, no faith. I’ll tell you one thing,” Albus raised his ancient blue eyes to pierce Severus’ obsidian orbs. “That boy will need disciplining when he returns to Hogwarts, and I will make certain he gets it.”

“With all do respect, Headmaster,” allowed Severus cautiously, expertly keeping his sneer from showing. “Exactly how is it you are going to find them? Notices in the Daily Prophet?”

“No, no.” Dumbledore shook his head and rose, walking towards Fawkes’ empty perch, resting a hand on it. “I don’t want anyone to know just yet. The Magical Community’s attitude towards Harry and myself is already…ill at ease, at the moment. I fear it would do more harm than good to do such a thing. As it is, I already have several spies placed around Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, and other areas of interest to them. Three days, Severus, remember? Only three days.” The last words sounded as though they were said more to assure himself than Severus. “In fact, I was hoping that you-.” A hiss from his guest stopped the Albus’ words in his mouth.

“Severus!”

He had not felt the sensation in over a decade, and it was more painful than he remembered. It was as though fire were traveling through the veins of his forearm, followed instantly by freezing ice. If his arm were being pulled off artery by artery, the pain would have been nowhere near as intense as it was now.

"He's calling you," said Albus needlessly. "Here, use my fireplace to Floo to your quarters." The old wizard struggled to help the younger to his feet, and even went far enough to place him into the hearth, tossing the powder in himself and shouting the words "Potions Chambers!", watching Severus disappear into the green flames, a small frown forming on his face.

‘Whatever you are planning, Tom,’ he thought. ‘It will not work, for I know something that you do not, and it will lead to your downfall.'

.T.

"Are we...is this...how the...Shrieking Shack?"

Ron had summed up the thoughts of himself and his friends with his poorly developed sentence.

Harry studied their surroundings. It certainly looked like the Shrieking Shack, or at least the parts he had seen. However, it appeared as though it had been fixed up as of late; made livable. It was clean, revealing that the place was not the gray it had appeared to be in third year, and the furniture was strangely unbroken. It almost looked as if someone had lived there. Harry leaned against the wall to ease his body's aches and pains as Hermione came running down the now stable stairs.

"The upstairs is the same; there's a library! I can't believe- Harry, what's wrong?" Her sudden change of topic caused Ron to also turn around whilst Harry stuttered to come up with an answer.

"The Muggles," said Ron, blue eyes flashing with hatred and self-loathing. "I'd forgotten. Mate, you should let Hermione look at you." His bushy-haired friend nodded.

"I brought several books that have healing spells in them, and once Ron's strips my wand, I can use them. Ron, help him upstairs, I saw some rooms..." Harry shook his head viciously.

"I'm fine, it's just a couple of bruises. I'm tired, is all..." Ron snorted and shared a glance with Hermione. At her nod, he walked up to his friend and gripped his arm loosely, throwing it around his shoulder. "You're getting a girl to...what's that game...doctor! Hermione's going to play doctor with you, and you're complaining!" Harry rolled his eyes, and Ron turned serious as they slowly followed Hermione back up the stairs. "You do look bad, though, mate."

"Thanks, Ron," came the raspy, dry reply. "I'm just tired..."

"Sit down on the bed, then," ordered Hermione as they entered the first room they passed. Harry did as commanded, with Ron's help, holding back a hiss of pain as both his abdomen and back protested the movement. "Take off your shirt."

"What?" He asked, startled. Hermione looked at him oddly.

"I have to see your bruises to heal them, Harry." She said. He looked around nervously.

"Can't I just...point out where they are?" Ron sat down beside him on the bed, careful not to jostle him, and said kindly.

"We know it's bad, Harry." He placed his hand on Harry's shoulder soothingly. "It's alright."

'You only say that because you haven't seen it yet.' He thought bitterly, but under their firm glares, he sighed and removed the trench coat.

Their first warning was the blood on the shirt. It was all over the place, and it was dark, making it known that it was fresh. He slowly began to unbutton the overly large material, allowing the scars to slowly reveal themselves to his now horrified audience, and felt an odd bit of satisfaction at their gasps.

"Happy now?" He asked scornfully, lightly pressing his hand to his makeshift bandage, wincing as he felt the wetness of his blood.

Hermione stared at the body of her friend. It was pale; littered with more scars than she had ever seen in her life. The bandage that covered his lower half was poorly done, and obviously their earlier escapades had caused it to break open. She blinked hard at Harry's hateful words, and turned towards Ron, placing her wand in his hand.

"Strip this and unshrink my trunk," she implored, turning her eyes toward Harry, who was looking at her with a dead gaze. "Lay down on your side," she said softly. "We'll get you fixed up, Harry, promise."

.T.

She lay on the couch; her eyes hollow as she stared at the screen of the telly, not really paying much attention as to what was on. She laid her head on one arm, the other across her stomach. Her feet were covered by the ever-smug Crookshanks, who stared at her, as though saying, "I know where she is, but as you're not a cat...I can't exactly speak to you, can I?"

Hermione.

Her eyes filled with tears at the thought of her daughter, alone on the streets of Britain, possibly captured by the illustrious Dark Lord she spoke so commonly of, or prey to some man who was looking for a thrill. She was forbidden from using magic outside school, and thus had no way to defend herself if she was in any of those situations.

Hermione. Anna Granger let out a small sob, and her husband, who sat on the chair beside her, shot her an annoyed look.

"Would you just go to bed already?" He demanded harshly. "She left. She's not coming back. You should be thankful for it instead of crying like it's the worst thing that could happen!" Anna sat up at this, knocking Crookshanks from his position, looking rather horrible, with her brown hair in a disarray and her brown eyes red from countless tears; her glare was just as effective.

"Thankful?" She cried hysterically. "Thankful? Jacob, our daughter is missing! Gone, out there where there are Dark Lords and...Death Eaters... and all the things that are common threats to a girl her age, and you want me to be thankful? Damn it all, Jacob, she's our daughter, for Christ's sake!"

"And you're going to have another one!" He bellowed, rising from his seat. "A normal daughter! And I am going to thank God every day that that one is not around to corrupt her the way she was corrupted!" Jacob raised his fist as though to strike her, but hesitated, the drunken rage that was behind his hazel eyes dying slightly. He lowered his hand and stalked towards the front door, snatching a jacket off of the tree. "I'm going to the pub," he said quietly. Anna didn't reply, and Jacob walked out, slamming the door behind him.

Her hand flew to her stomach, and she slowly caressed the bump below her palm. Three months. She didn't show much for an expectant mother of three months. There had been so many complications with the pregnancy already that Anna hadn't wanted to tell Hermione of it, incase of a miscarriage, and Jacob had kept quiet about it for his own reasons, which were clear now.

She didn't know if her husband's fears were founded (she hadn't been raised in the Wizarding World, after all), but she did know one thing. Even if the child in her womb were born magical, she would love it, just as she loved Hermione. And even if it meant divorcing her husband, which went beyond her religious beliefs, she would live with them, happy and whole. But first she needed to get her daughter back.

She returned to her position on the couch, arm protectively around her belly. Crookshanks returned to his spot at her feet, watching her with undaunting large yellow eyes. He was studying her, much in the same way her daughter did. He was definitely Hermione's cat. Her eyes returned to the screen of the television, yet she still did not pay attention to the program.

From her feet, Crookshanks purred.

.T. 

He sat on the floor of the, what he assumed it was, anyways, the living room. Hermione had sent him out of the room an hour ago, when he had gotten a full look at the injuries that had been bestowed upon his friend and had ranted and raved enough to unnerve Harry. He had come down here and sat on one of the chairs, before instantly moving to the floor. He was not worthy of such comfort when Harry was in such a state.

He felt guilty again, and this time, it wasn’t because of the events of the Tri Wizard Tournament. He should have pushed harder to have Harry stay at the Burrow over the summer, should have flat out told Dumbledore that he was going to, no matter what he said. He could have rescued him like he and the twins did the summer after first year – why had he even let him go back after that, anyways? This was all his fault. He looked down at the bottle in his hand, which still held Vernon Dursley, who looked just as purple and angry as he had when Ron had first put him in there, and his blue eyes twinkled maliciously.

“It’s my fault,” he told the obese man. “But you’ll be the one who pays for it.”

“Ron.”

His head shot up at the sound of his name, and his eyes locked with the tired, albeit satisfied ones of Hermione. She walked towards him, something clutched in her hand, and he rose.

“Is he alright? Were you able to…heal everything?” The witch sighed.

“I admit, he would have been better off with a healer; those spells were more difficult than the ones we have to do on NEWTS. I managed to heal everything that was bleeding, bruised, and broken, but I couldn’t get rid of the scars. But, he’s asleep now, thank Merlin.” Ron let out a sigh of relief and placed the bottle on the end table.

“I’ll stay with him tonight,” he offered his friend. She arched an eyebrow at him and smiled.

“That’s ok. I can do it.”

“No, really,” pressed Ron. “I’ll do it.”

“Ron,” said Hermione suddenly, yawning. “Let’s not fight about it, alright? We’ll both do it…but you’re sleeping on the floor.”

The redhead smiled and made his way for the stairs. “Fine with me.”

“Hey, Ron?” Hermione called, stopping him in his tracks. He turned to her with a questioning look. “Shouldn’t we…feed him? To keep him alive, I mean.” She motioned towards Vernon, and Ron could just barely make out the suddenly hopeful look on the face of his friend’s uncle. He waited for a moment, and then shook his head.

“Nah. Let him feel how Harry felt for the past thirteen years.” Vernon’s face fell.

.T. 

Draco rubbed his eyes as the first rays of dawn cracked through the windows of Malfoy Manor. He had been sitting in the plush leather chair all night, silver eyes never moving from the still form of his friend. He was still in his bathrobe, and his hair was messy enough to put Potter’s to shame. His mother had tried constantly two hours to coax him into going to bed, but he hadn’t moved, and had threatened to curse anyone (namely house-elves) who wasn’t family that tried to convince him to do otherwise.

Blaise hadn’t moved all night.

His mum had called one of the best healers from St. Mungos to attend to his ailed friend, but all they could come up with was that he had experienced a severe magical burst to his body. It wasn’t life threatening, they said, but he would need several days of bed rest.

Draco knew better.

He had read up on bonds, like the one his father had to the Dark Lord. Blaise had sworn his allegiance to someone, had sworn to protect them, and had failed to do so, thus experiencing the unimaginable, excruciating pain his lord was in. His mother had once told him, right before he went to Hogwarts, that it happened to her and his father when Voldemort fell, but, for obvious reasons, they had been unable to call for a healer. It had not occurred to her that that could be the case with Blaise, as Draco had not yet told her nor his father, who was currently with the Dark Lord, about his change of loyalties – it wasn’t his place. He reached over and absently stroked a hand though the boy’s long raven locks.

He remembered when Blaise had told him he was gay. It had been during the Yule Ball, when he had just finished struggling through a dance with Hannah Abbot per a ‘request’ (along with a threatened possible detention) from Professor McGonagall. Draco had teased him for several minutes about it, asking him when the wedding was, and how many kids they intended to have, when Blaise had just simply let it spill.

“I’m gay, Draco. She’s a bit beyond my taste.” 

He had been shocked, of course. Not that the whole gay thing disturbed him, oh no. Greg and Vince had announced that they were dating in third year, and the only one who had found it disgusting was some stupid first year. No, it was whom Blaise liked that bothered him.

Ronald Conrad Weasley. 

The Weasley Clan and the Malfoy Clan had always hated each other, and had passed the feeling down through their descendants. So, naturally, he and Ron despised one another. To find out that his best friend was in love with him, wished that he was at the dance with him, was just…odd.

But he went along with it, assuring Blaise that Weasley was having an awful time, and that he very well could be gay, too, or bisexual. It did little to raise the Slytherin’s spirits, but he did seem thankful.

‘Of course he was thankful,’ thought Draco with a snort as he drew himself back to the present. ‘He’s the bloody Slytherin version of Potter, except he’s more sarcastic, more mean, more smart, more quiet…ahhh!’ The sun became brighter, and Draco rose to close the blinds, not wanting Blaise to wake up only to go blind. He twisted the pole absently.

“Uhhhhgggg.”

The moan drew his attention back to his friend, though, as it happened several times throughout the night, he did not expect to see half-opened obsidian eyes staring up at him from the mattress.

“Blaise!” He cried, and the boy instantly cringed.

“Not…so loud,” he whispered, opening his eyes again. At the sight of the blonde’s concerned look, he offered a weak smile. “I feel like I got hit by the bloody Knight Bus.” Draco chuckled. It had always been a plan by them to get hit by the three-story purple automobile of terror, so that they could mark their clean record and sue them for all the Galleons they had.

“Well, at least you’re well enough to make jokes. Now.” Draco turned serious. “Tell me what happened before I call the healer.”

“I would, but somehow, I think you already know.”

“I have my suspicions.”

“If it has anything to do with my new Lord, Draco, then you are right.” The Malfoy heir nodded, but before he could say another word, Narcissa poked her head in.

“Draconis, darling, please come down and – Blaise!” The raven-haired boy cringed again at her sudden loud cry, but smiled anyways.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” he acknowledged. She beamed widely, and spoke more softly this time.

“I’ll go firewall Healer Smoidst.” She turned her light blue eyes on her son. “May I have the house-elves bring up something to eat, now?” She asked in mock submission. Draco simpered at her slightly.

“If it pleases you to do so, Mother, then by all means, be my guest.” Mrs. Malfoy’s eyes rolled in a highly undignified manner, and she withdrew her head and closed the door. The second he was sure she was gone, Draco rounded back to his friend, staring at him intensely. Catching his look, Blaise sighed.

“I’ll talk to him,” he said hoarsely. “But I’ll be damned if you don’t come along.”

.T. 

“My Lord, this is part of the potion. I told you about the effects before you took it.” Severus’ voice sounded softly throughout the dimly lit master bedroom of Riddle Manor. From beside him, Lucius’ eyes went skyward as his master and friend retorted.

“The pain, Severus? That was not in your list of effects! Nor was this…weakness,” replied Voldemort in a short hiss. Wormtail watched from the corner in interest as Severus bent to examine their Lord again.

“The weakness is due to the potion, my Lord, yes. It was meant to take you back to the point of your life when you were the strongest – the physical point, anyways. Your energy will take some time to catch up.”

“How much time?” Demanded the sour Lord. Severus sighed.

“A week, maybe two, possibly three. It’s up to you, honestly.”

“And the pain? Even you were confused by that, Severus,” Lucius pointed out.

“Well, yes. I have no idea what it means. I told you that Mr. Potter is supposedly gone from the home of his relatives.” Here, the Dark Lord’s crimson flashed with an unknown emotion. “You took his blood for the potion. Perhaps it has created a…bond of some kind between the two of you.”

“Bond?” Inquired Voldemort. “What type of bond?” Severus’ head shook.

“I’m not certain. It could be a mere feel link, my Lord. I’d have to read up on it ”

“I’ll do that, Sev,” offered the blonde. “You should go home. Spend some time with Charlie.” Severus looked torn, glancing repeatedly between both men.

“If it pleases my Lord-.” He finally began, but Voldemort waved him off feebly.

“Go, go. I have Lucius to see to me, and Wormtail for entertainment. You are of little use to me if your mind is elsewhere, Severus.” With a slight bow to both men, Severus exited the room, sending a small scowl towards Peter as he did so.

‘What’s this?’ Thought Wormtail as Lucius and his master began another, quieter conversation. ‘Severus…with a Weasley?’ The wheels behind Peter’s watery blue eyes began to turn, but before he could properly digest his thoughts, Nagini hissed from somewhere close by his feet, and he gave a shrill squeak and jumped away.

.T. 

Dolores Jane Umbridge strode into the Ministry, a scowl marring her already grostque face. Harry Potter had not been delivered to the Ministry, soulless and stupid. Lord Azkaban had failed his assignment. Granted, he now had to stand trial for use of Underaged Wizardry. He would have faced expulsion from school, as well as the snapping of his wand, of course, had Dumbledore not intervened. She would have to talk to Cornelius about making an Educational Decree against that…

On her way past her office, she saw Nancy Ogloff, along with an extremely tall, extremely buff wizard she assumed was Nicholas, packing the objects of her desk into two boxes. The blonde woman looked utterly devastated, and Dolores did not even bother to hold back her smile and she passed them, knowing full well that they could see her. It served the secretary right, leaving before her work was completed.

She walked up to the door of the conference room, straightening her frilly pink robes and vainly attempting to fluff her brittle curls, and knocked.

“That must be Dolores,” the voice of the Minister proclaimed loudly. “Come in, Dolores, come in!”

She pushed open the door and walked in with an air of confidence, mentally identifying those of the room. There was Cornelius, of course, as well as Percy Weasley and his fiancée, Penelope Clearwater, both of whom looked incredibly nervous about being there. She sat down across from them, and immediately waved her wand over the table, bringing up several documents before her.

“Now,” she said, delving right into it. “It has come to our attention that you have been recruited by Albus Dumbledore into an order to supposedly do some…work…against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. This strikes us as odd, as You-Know-Who has been dead for almost fourteen years. We think,” she withdrew a few papers from her stack and handed them to the young adults. “That this is merely a cover for something more…extreme.”

“An army against the Ministry?” Inquired Percy, peering down at his paper through his horn-rimmed glasses. Both he and Penelope looked up at her, and she nodded with a sugary sweet smile.

“You are both very valuable to the Ministry, and we know that you are loyal. That is why we feel that we can trust you with this.” She handed them a few more papers; Fudge shifted uncertainly from off to the side. This time it was Penelope who spoke.

“Is this true?” She demanded. Percy reached over and clutched her hand. Dolores nodded grimly. The four were silent for a moment, before Percy spoke up.

“What do you need us to do?”

Dolores shared a triumphant look with Cornelius, and she handed them her final papers.

.T. 

“No, Neville! Honestly, we get you your own wand and you still can’t do it right!” Algie Longbottom frowned at his nephew, who looked slightly sheepish.

“Sorry!” Called Neville. When Uncle Algie looked away, muttering several swear words under his breath, Neville rolled his eyes. He had gotten his wand two weeks ago, right after he had departed from the Hogwarts Express, and already he could do more magic than he had been able to his whole life. He had mastered the charms and curses he had been unable to do at school, and was preparing to learn, as of seven that morning (via a quiet Grams) that would make Hermione Granger envious.

“Try it again, Nev!” Cried Grandpa Morris, grinning broadly at him with his toothless mouth. Neville nodded. He would learn these spells, and help Harry in the war like Dumbledore wanted him to. Just like Harry had to protect the entire British population, he had to protect his family.

“Dark Lords be damned,” he muttered under his breath, before sending the curse at his uncle once more.

.T. 

His eyes opened, the bright sunlight from the window denying him the sleep his body craved. He stared at the ceiling, grasping blankly that it wasn’t his ceiling, and as he doubted the Dursleys had snuck in that night and cleaned it, this wasn’t his room, and therefore, was not his bed. He raised himself on his elbows, and realized he did not hurt. At all. For the firs time in two weeks, his body felt nothing but good…and hungry. His emerald gaze scanned the room curiously, and he spotted Hermione on a bed across the room, sleeping soundly, and it all came rushing back.

Ron and Hermione showing up at the Dursleys…Vernon and Petunia being cursed by Ron…Escaping…the Dementors…Hedwig…The Shrieking Shack…Hermione’s healing…

Well, that would explain the lack of pain, and the new location.

His stomach growled, interrupting his musings, and he slowly rose from the soft bed, noticing that Ron was not in the room.

‘Probably had the same idea.’ He thought in dull amusement. Slowly, making sure not to wake up Hermione, he made his way across the carpet and silently opened the door. He honestly hoped the place had a kitchen.

He made his way down the stairs, glad that the summer heat was able to penetrate the walls of the…house…for he was certain he would catch a cold without a shirt, and he wasn’t too sure he could handle that right now.

Harry found the kitchen easily enough, and in it, as he had thought, was Ron, sitting at the table, a bowl of what looked like porridge in front of him, massaging his head harshly.

“Has food, does it?” He asked, mentally growling at the timid tone in his voice. Ron started, knocking his spoon from his bowl as he whirled around.

“Sorry,” Harry muttered sheepishly, ducking his head. Ron said nothing, simply staring at him, and Harry shifted nervously, knowing he was looking at the countless scars. “Hermione’s still asleep,” he offered. “We’re going backwards with that, you know? Usually it’s her first, then me, then you.” He stalked towards the cabinet. “Where’d you find that food?” Ron continued to stare.

“Harry-.” He finally started, but Harry shook his head.

“Ron, can I just, eat breakfast without talking about it, please?” He pleaded. The redhead looked down in what he thought to be shame, but when he spoke again, the words were not those of an apologetic person.

“I wasn’t going to talk about that. I…” He drew off and looked back down at his bowl, and realized he was unable to eat the contents with his spoon.

“What, Ron?” Sighed the younger Gryffindor. The fifteen-year-old looked up again, his expression so forlorn that Harry grew concerned.

“Ron?”

“I’m sorry,” muttered the rouge Weasley under his breath; Harry caught it and looked at him oddly.

“What for?” Ron scoffed, taking on the crazed happiness one who is very much grieved gets at such a question.

“What not for, is the better question.” He stuck two fingers in his bowl and flicked the porridge onto the countertop absently. “I was a dick to you last year, Harry!” He cried suddenly. “I ditched you when that damn blighter put your name in the Goblet and it came up, accused you of lying, and didn’t notice how wrong I was until you bloody near lost your life because of some stupid dragon! And then,” he chuckled darkly. “I was too caught up being the best friend of the Tri Wizard Tournament hero, too distracted with the publicity I got from being the thing you would miss the most that I didn’t see what you were going through. And you know what I did while you were fighting V-Voldemort, Harry? Do you?” He snorted. “I cheered. I cheered while you were being tortured.”

Harry stared at him with wide eyes. He never thought that Ron had felt all of that. He had never said anything. For a moment, he was tempted to hug him, but some invisible force held his body where it was, and instead he settled for just talking.

“Ron…” His friend shook his head.

“And now this.” He waved towards the scars that adorned Harry’s body. “I could have done something to stop that from happening. I could have come sooner, could have begged my mum to let you stay. Hell, I could have told Dumbledore to fuck off and taken you home without his bloody consent.” He turned watery eyes up to meet Harry’s stunned emerald. “I failed. Merlin.” He threw his face into his hand, but not before Harry saw the tears that had spilt out of his eye.

Harry slowly approached his friend, his heart breaking at Ron’s words and expressions. The guilt, it was so similar to what he felt every day when he thought about Cedric. The bonds that had kept him from willingly giving physical touch dissipated, and he laid a hand on the other boy’s shoulder. Ron tensed slightly at the contact, and Harry recognized the irony.

“You couldn’t have known, Ron,” he said softly. “It would be like…me knowing you had six other brothers before you told me you had six older brothers.” Ron gave a soft chuckle, but didn’t remove his face from his hand.

“Can you forgive me, Harry? For everything that happened?” He finally looked up, red eyes somewhat hopeful, though his face was crestfallen when Harry shook his head.

“There’s nothing to forgive, you git.” He said. Ron’s face lit up, and before Harry knew it, the taller teen had him wrapped in a hug. Harry was surprised to find that he didn’t flinch at the contact, and, realizing it wasn’t so bad, returned it lightly.

“Think you can forgive me for being such an ass last night?” He inquired, voice muffled by Ron’s shoulder. The redhead gave a thoughtful pause before chuckling.

“I think it can be arranged.” They broke apart at the sound of an opening and slamming door, smiling at the sounded of fast-paced footsteps on the stairs.

“Now get me the damn porridge.”

.T. 

She sat on one of the cool chairs of the ward, leg crossed over leg, waiting patiently for a doctor to pass. She smiled kindly at those who passed her, though she only received a few in return. It was not the happiest of places to be.

“Excuse me,” she said as a tall man in a white coat walked by. “I was wondering if you still have a patient by the name of Aberforth Dumbledore?” The man, obviously a Muggle, gave her a suspicious look.

“Yes…” Came the cautious reply. She beamed.

“Thank Merlin. I’ve gone to every ward trying to find him. I need to speak with him about the prophecy he gave. I believe it concerns a charge of mine.” The Muggle’s face took on a whole new look, and when he spoke, his voice held more respect than before.

“Of course, of course. May I ask your name, please, miss?” The woman smiled graciously.

“He knows me simply as Hedwig.”

TBC 

Just A Note: I really didn’t like this chapter, especially the scene between Harry and Ron, but is was necessary.


	5. The Council Summit

  
Author's notes: [HPLV slash] AU Fifth year. Dark Trio. Dumbledore should have realized he could not keep the Golden Trio under his thumb forever. There are secrets about Harry Potter that not even he knows, and some are much more bigger than others.  


* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, or any other character found within J.K. Rowling’s novels. In addition, I do not intend this story as any form of slander, nor do I make profit from it.

Notes: This chapter was, to be blunt, a pain in the arse to write. I didn’t like how it turned out, but it’s mostly then that y’all do, so, there ya go (blahhh).

Warnings: Slash, AU, mentions/flashbacks of child abuse, swearing, and violence. If this is not your cup of tea, I suggest you try coffee, or, better yet, water.

Chapter Four

The room was dull. Not that he was used to being in a luxurious environment – not many who worked (and occasionally lived) at the History of Magic Library were. But honestly! Surely the designer of the room had not believed that its resident would find it interesting. But, then again, it had been made for a resident who was not supposed to be awake…ever.

‘A death room,’ he thought, feeling a bit of morbid amusement.

Currently, he was lying flat on his back (a position he considered quite uncomfortable), short, still dust filled hair feeling more grimy than ever, normally bright honey eyes lacking the usual Dumbledore twinkle, filled instead with prickling tears that were commonly associated with eyes that had been open for too long as he stared up at the pure-white ceiling. Neither the lighting nor the color itself were doing much to soothe his headache, which pounded mercilessly at the very top of his head, traveling effectively to his temples as though it were trying its best to make him suffer. However, he didn’t truly mind, because Aberforth Dumbledore, considering the circumstances, felt himself fortunate to be feeling anything at all.

Every true Seer had one main vision; the life-changing one that they were born to see and foretell. It was common knowledge to the elder, more experienced what their fate would be after such an event. Death was a blessing compared to the endless years of insanity that befell those who had lived their purpose. Aberforth had been witness to many MVs, several of which had occurred to those whom he had held in his heart as close friends. By all rights, he should be in a similar state. All of the signs pointed to his mental death – the fierce magic blast, the pain, the vision itself. So why wasn’t he…like that?

“There…there must be something bigger,” he whispered to himself, eyes widening at the sudden realization. "Something more horrible..."

"Well, they said you were no worse for wear," said and amused voice. "I should have known not to trust doctors."

Honey eyes shot towards the door, locking almost instantly with deep amber pools, and a small, albeit tired smile formed on Aberforth's pale face.

"Hedwig," he acknowledged with a dry tone, his mind running through every curse he could think of.

It had been nearly sixteen years since he last seen the divine creature that stood in the doorway, and the same sense of dread at that point in time was back in full force. To have the Lady Hedwig in his room, or anywhere in his sight, for that matter, was an ill omen. The last time they had met, she had been cryptic and cunning, speaking of destinies and births. Two months later, Aberforth lost two very close friends.

His attention was drawn back to the present at the sound of his door clicking shut. The White Lady, as she was sometimes called, was moving towards the windows that allowed those outside the room to look in. She seemed to sneer at the trivial blinds at the ends of them, and clutched their poles, drawing them shut, not giving anyone a chance to peek in. Aberforth watched with interest as she then proceeded to walk over to his bed; she studied him for a minute, then, as though it were one of the most boring things in the world, snapped her fingers, and the youngest Dumbledore found himself propped up upon several fluffy, white pillows. He did not offer thanks, instead focusing his mind on shifting around to find a comfortable position.

"Will you not speak to me?" Inquired Hedwig after a moment of silence, causing Aberforth to still. "I know you have questions."

The old wizard suppressed the snort that begged to rise at her words, and settled for simply rolling his eyes.

"Aye, I do," he agreed softly. "But will you answer them?" Hedwig arched an elegant eyebrow at him, a small smile forming upon her rosy lips, and she snapped her fingers again, this time conjuring up a rather uncomfortable looking chair, on which she seated herself. However, she did not look at him, but instead faced the wall, staring at some blank spot that had seemingly caught her attention. Aberforth waited patiently, folding his hands across his lap, giving her his full and undivided attention.

"Do you know what this year symbolizes, Aberforth?" She asked after a moment. The wizard's honey eyes blinked, and he gave her a pointed ‘who wouldn’t?’ look.

“Anno Domini,” he replied. Hedwig nodded, jerking her head down to meet his gaze, her silver hair flying into her face, which she pushed away impatiently.

“The world is changing, Aberforth,” she stated, amber eyes dancing. “The War approaches…the Second Blood War. Even the Muggles themselves will not escape unscathed this time. It’s…” She trailed off, blinking hard. “It is being sensed all over the world – we have gotten contact from the Elves! The Elves, Aberforth, the ones who have been in hiding for nearly a millennium!”

“Is that so hard to believe?” He inquired, attempting to sound nonchalant. “Several of their half-breed children reside in the Wizarding World, of course they would want to keep contact-.” Hedwig shook her head fiercely, glaring at him heatedly.

“You gave a prophecy two days ago,” she said, changing the subject, tone sounding as a warning towards him to not attempt ignorance. “One that could be very important to my cause. Do you remember that prophecy?” Her voice was cool. Aberforth responded with equal feeling, though it would have been more impressive, perhaps, had he not been lying on a bed.

“I am not some quarter-blooded psychic that can punch out some crackpot prophecies, and then forget about them afterwards!” His eyes flashed furiously. “I am quite capable, thank you.” Hedwig arched an eyebrow at the man, but said nothing on the matter, instead merely giving him a pointed look. “Yes,” he allowed after a moment. “I remember it.”

“All of it?” She demanded. The man gave her an incredulous look, and she instantly dropped it. “Alright, then. Was there anyone who heard it?”

“Blaise Zabini,” said Aberforth after a moment, a bit of concern appearing behind his honey eyes. “He’s a student of mine. He heard the whole thing…I…talked to him about it, I believe. I don’t-.” Hedwig nodded impatiently.

“You bound him,” she said simply, causing the wizard’s eyes to widen. “He is to serve our Lord when the time comes. Do not fret yourself over it,” she added, catching his expression. “He cannot die until our Lord comes into his power, and most likely won’t, with how our Lord is. He is safe for now.”

“Merlin,” murmured Aberforth, not truly listening to what she had just said. “He…he had no idea what he was getting into. He didn’t know…”

“Aberforth!” Snapped the Lady harshly. “This is not the time for you to throw yourself into guilt! There is a Summit tonight, and I think it would beneficial for you to come.” The youngest Dumbledore’s head shot up sharply, all traces of emotion gone.

“What?”

Before a reply could be given, there was a knock at the door. The two occupants turned their heads as a nurse Aberforth did not recognize stuck her head in. She gave them a strange look, but at Hedwig’s impatient frown, the young brunette ducked her head sheepishly and spoke, voice so soft they could barely hear it

“Begging your pardon, Mr. Dumbledore, but your brother is here to see you. He says the matter is of the “utmost urgency”.” The wizard sighed deeply, his own frown forming; the White Lady rose from her seat, nodding sharply at the nurse.

“I’ll be gone in two minutes,” she assured coldly. The girl gave an affirmative noise, and backed out of the room, shutting the door with a light click. The second it sounded, Hedwig whirled upon Aberforth, and for the first time he could remember, an anxious look adorned her normally confident features.

“There is no time for reasoning. I can take you with me now, or come back for you some other time today, if you wish to prepare…or something. Keep in mind, however, that if you do stay here, you will be forced to endure Albus’ endless questions and mind probing, which, I am sorry to say, you might not be able to block in your current condition.”

Aberforth’s honey-colored eyes darted between Hedwig and the door several times. He had no wish to get involved with Hedwig and her world once again. Losing Lily and James had been hard enough, but to have to stand by and watch their son suffer the same fate?

‘But he will get involved with or without you there,’ offered a small voice within his head. ‘It is his destiny. But maybe your information can spare him some of the hurt bound to come his way. It did for James.’ Flashes of the lithe, emerald-eyed boy flooded through his mind. The pain that had been written on his face, the haunted, far-too-old look in his eyes as they unknowingly stared at him. He had the chance to ease that pain, to make his transition to his new destiny easier…would he really pass it up?

Slowly, very slowly, Aberforth’s eyes returned to Hedwig, and he reached out his hand.

“Let’s get this over with.” The Lady smiled at him, and without hesitation, grasped his hand, and upon his questioning look, spoke.

“I just love confusing your brother.” And they were gone in a flash of blinding white light, not two seconds before the nurse opened the door once more, only to see both her problem and her patient gone.

.T.

His eyes cracked open slowly, and for a brief moment, he had no clue as to where he was. The room was far larger than his own, decked out it cool greens and obsidian black, giving off an air of cold and comfortable together…not to mention the bed upon which he lay was far more comfortable than his own. And then the events of the night before came flooding back to him; Charlie rolled over on his back, a large, goofy grin plastered to his face.

Severus had come to him last night, climbing through his window, to find him sitting on his bed, arms wrapped around his legs, staring out into space; honestly, he had jumped his lover the second his feet had touched the floor, demanding the information that he had asked Severus for. And he had gotten it. Ron was with Hermione, and, if he was figuring right, Harry as well. He knew all the kinds of mischief the Trio could cause, but knew for, at least in the meantime, that they were safe. He only hoped that they got to do whatever it was they had set out to do before Dumbledore caught them…

And Severus had taken him to Snape Manor, with the excuse that the Burrow was far too drafty, and thus, here he was, in his lover’s bed, rather a happy young man.

“Do you always sleep in so late?” Charlie’s head jerked to the side at the sound of the soft, sneering draw, his smile growing larger at the sight of the small smirk on his lover’s face, his brown eyes falling to the tray Severus held in his hands, an eyebrow lifting.

“Breakfast in bed?” He inquired incredulously. Severus’ eyes went upward as he moved forward, sneer still in place, and Charlie couldn’t help but add, “Wait, you made breakfast?”

Disgruntled, the Head of Slytherin gracefully lowered himself down beside the other man, his pale skin contrasting beautifully with the tan of the other, and waited for Charlie to push himself into a sitting position before all but dropping the tray unto his lap.

“I am a potions master,” said the Professor with a scowl. “I believe I can manage a bit of breakfast.” Charlie grinned brightly at him from a mouthful of bacon.

“Neffa sed ‘o wern’, luf.” Severus grimaced at the sight of bits of the meat hitting the thick satin covers of his bed, and shot the redhead a pointed look, causing the younger wizard to turn sheepish as he swallowed the food, grasping his wand from the bedside table and banishing his mess with a small wave. “Sorry,” he offered. Severus merely continued to scowl.

“What are you planning to do today?” Queried the raven-haired wizard as Charlie finished, summoning a house-elf to take the dishes away. The dragon tamer groaned dramatically, dropping his head into his hands.

“I should be getting home, actually,” he said after a moment, his tone reluctant. "Mum's already having kittens over Ron...I actually don't want to think about how she'll act when she realizes I'm not at home..."

"Charlie," chided Severus softly, butting the younger wizard's shoulder with his own. "It's eleven already-." Charlie shot out of the bed, obviously not concerned over his lack of clothing, eyes wide.

"All the more reason to leave!" He cried, scrambling around for his clothes. Severus watched this all with an amused, albeit slightly sad gaze.

"Your robes are on the chair," he said quietly. Charlie whirled around, eyes softening at the expression of his lover. The vulnerable Severus was never one the Weasley had gotten used to. With a sigh, he maneuvered his now half-dressed self over to the Potions Professor, depositing himself right onto the man's lap. Without a word, he brought his lips to the older wizard's, catching him in a gentle, deep kiss, which felt as though it contained more passion than any fiery one given during their frantic lovemaking. Their tongues danced, but did not fight for dominance, both knowing full well that neither would win. When they pulled apart, they rested their foreheads together, mocha brown staring into obsidian black with such intensity that one would think they were attempting to read the other's mind.

"You could just tell them," whispered Severus after a moment, and Charlie tensed slightly. They had been having this conversation for quite some time, nearly four months, but...he loved Severus, honestly, he did. And homosexual relationships were well accepted in the British Wizarding Community, almost expected for men and women not married to the opposite-sex by age twenty-seven. But his parents... and his family...other than Ron, and perhaps the twins, were not the most open-minded of people. Medieval thinking, of course, but it was thinking that would leave Charlie without a family in a heartbeat if he told.

"Sev..." He said in the same soft tone. However, the Slytherin Head cut him off, pulling away and pulling a masking smirk onto his face. 'I know', his eyes read.

"You should get going, then. No telling when your mother will be turning up..." The lanky professor rose from the bed, reaching out a hand for the redhead, who took it with a sigh.

"I should write to Ron, as well. Make sure things are alright-."

"No!"

The outcry startled Charlie, who pulled away from Severus with a jerk, giving him a surprised, somewhat hurt look. However, the man did not offer an apologetic look, instead looking more serious than he had seen him in a long time.

"Do not contact them from the Burrow," said Severus in the same commanding tone. "I told you that Albus has eyes out for them everywhere; no doubt he'll be watching your family's mail until they're found. He's infuriated, Charlie."

"Bu-But..." The words seemed caught on Charlie's tongue, emotions clearly torn. "What if something does happen to them, Sev? What if they need help..."

"Wait a few days.” Charlie glanced at this lover curiously. “Just, wait until Dumbledore lists them as missing. Then you can send a letter, from here, with an untraceable owl.” The second eldest Weasley scowled, ready to object, but Severus spoke first. “The brats obviously left for a reason, and as much as I’m loath to admit it, they always seem to know what they’re doing. Just let them be – ,” Severus drew off suddenly, looking down at his arm, where the Dark Mark glowed a fierce lime green, and sighed. “That’ll be Tom,” he said softly. Charlie quickly looked away as Severus rose up, snatching his black robes from off the floor and drawing them on. Finally, he did send the younger wizard a remorseful gaze. “I trust you’ll be with your parents when I’m done?” Charlie nodded. “I’ll see you there, then.”

He turned to leave, shoulders slumped, but his wrist was instantly caught in his lovers grasp, and his was pulled back onto the bed. Charlie’s lips crashed upon his, nipping and licking in a demanding way. Severus obliged, opening his mouth to allow the curious tongue to slip in. They instantly began to battle, both striving for a dominance they knew they would not gain. Charlie moaned as Severus’ hands began to roam his body, running his own through the Potions Master’s silky locks, pulling on them slightly in a teasing fashion. When Severus’ kiss began to trail to his jaw, however, Charlie pulled back, a small, slightly bitter smile on his face as he looked into the older wizard’s lustful black orbs.

“You have a meeting to go to,” he said softly, leaning back onto the pillows. Severus’ dazed look slowly faded away, and he became aware of the game that Charlie had just played. As he raised once more, a small, sly smile formed over his narrow face, and he bent down to give Charlie a chaste kiss.

“Such a Slytherin you are, love,” he whispered huskily, making Charlie shiver. Before another word could be said, Severus was out of the room, heading towards the fireplace, and Charlie was left alone on the bed.

After a few moments, when he was sure that Severus had gone off to see his darling lord, Charlie stood, mindless of the tray, and headed for the Owlery. An untraceable owl would be just as good now as it would be in two days.

.T.

She gazed out the small window with bored honey eyes, sighing with middle annoyance as she studied the wooded area before her. The sky seemed to enjoy pouring its rain mercilessly upon them – it had been doing so for the past two hours. It seemed almost foreshadowing, as though trying to warn her of the heartache the lay ahead for her and her friends. The thought brought a snort from her. As though a warning were needed; the events of yesterday were proof enough of how much trouble the trio was falling into.

Tearing her eyes away from the window, Hermione focused her attention instead to the library in which she was sitting. Three of the four oak-wood walls were, from ceiling to floor, covered in several shelves of books, many of which were very thing. The wall straight in front of them was only about two feet tall, as in the center was a very large maroon curtain, behind which, judging by the lighting, there was obviously a very window. She had opted not to pull the curtain back, for it was on the opposite wall as the one she was sitting on now, and would therefore give full view of Hogsmeade… and give Hogsmeade full view of them. She had an eerie feeling that it would not be too long before their faces would be plastered on the front page of every newspaper in the Wizarding World.

She sat in a plush, comfortable burgundy chair, feet propped up on the coffee table in front of her in a most undignified manner, a position she had been in for the last hour an a half. Across the way was Ron, studying but not touching a rather old looking chess set. It was an odd thing to experience, Ron being shy around a chess set… he loved those things, lived for them, actually. However, he was mumbling something about the figurines looking…murderous… she shook her head in amusement. Only Ron.

“Ouch!” Her gaze turned sharp as Ron’s hand flew up to the top front part of his head, looking concerned as he began to massage it.

“What? What’s wrong?” She moved to get up, already in Mother-mode, but Ron waved her back down.

“’S’fine,” he assured, blinking hard to rid his eyes of the tears Hermione had not seen. The brunette cocked her head.

“Are you sure?” She pressed. Giving his head one last hard rub, Ron looked up, attempting a bright smile.

“Yup!” He said cheerfully, eyes darting back to the chessboard so Hermione would not see the tears that were still coming. “Maybe I’ll put Harry’s uncle in here,” said the redhead suddenly. “You know, make him suffer without touching him. Can’t get in trouble that way, can I?” Hermione cocked an eyebrow, though her face took on a worried expression as Ron lifted his eyes to meet hers.

“What?” He asked, noticing the look.

“It’s just…” she paused for a moment before continuing. “I think we should let Harry’s uncle go.” She cringed the second the words left her mouth, prepared for the onslaught that was sure to come. She wasn’t disappointed.

“What?” Ron didn’t even bother to check the volume of his voice, and Hermione found herself glad that Harry had gone to take a shower. “Are you telling me that that man should be let free after what he did to Harry, our best friend? Without being punished at all? What about Harry?” Hermione’s eyes snapped back open, and she glared at Ron with intensity.

“I’m thinking about Harry!” She snarled softly, eyes flashing. “We’re going to be in enough trouble as it is, running away like we have. We cannot add murder of a Muggle to our crime list!” She calmed a bit. “Chances are that Dumbledore caught on to our magic use and has already talked to Harry’s aunt. If they find him dead, Harry, not us, will be sent to Azkaban!” She fell silent, and Ron looked away, obviously never having considered this before. And it was true. Harry’s now magic-cursed aunt despised him, and would blame the entire thing on him. And it would her word against Harry’s, whom the Daily Prophet was writing off as insane already. He looked down, finally pushing one of the pieces forward, frowning as it fell over.

“Muggle set,” he muttered in disappointment.

“What’s all the ruckus about?” Both Gryffindors looked up sharply at the weak words, gaping at the sight of a now-cleaned Harry Potter.

His hair had grown longer, reaching the base of his neck, and had smoothed from its unruly state. His emerald-green eyes, yesterday devoid of their usual spark, appeared slightly more alive as they studied the forms of his friends. He had also appeared to have grown taller, making the black shirt that Ron had bestowed him fit snugly around his unhealthy lithe frame. His face, devoid of any scars except for the one given to him by Voldemort, was so pale that, to Hermione and Ron, he resembled a living vampire.

“Damn,” said Hermione breathily. The youngest of the Trio glanced down at his feet shyly, obviously not having expected this reaction, and slowly made his way into the room, cheeks tinged with pink as he took the chair across from Hermione. Ron abandoned the dissatisfying chess set to join them.

“So?” Inquired Harry again, folding his arms across his chest. “What are you two going on about?” Ron and Hermione shared a brief look. Telling Harry of their plans with Vernon was risky… they hadn’t even decided what to do with him yet. There was, of course, no doubt that Harry would agree with them on setting Vernon loose, but thinking that man could be out there, biding time, would be enough to keep the raven-haired boy on edge for years to come.

“Well, Harry,” started Ron reluctantly. “We were talking about-.”

“Dumbledore,” interrupted Hermione quickly, trying her best to appear reluctant as well. “I know you think highly of him, Harry, but…”

“He put you with the Dursleys in the first place!” Ron exclaimed, motioning towards Harry. “And he has told us so many lies that it’s a wonder he can keep up with them all. Not to mention that it’s impossible for him to not have known about the bloody abuse.” Ron sighed, shoulders slightly slumped. “We’ve looked at the guy as a mentor and friend for the past four years but now…now I don’t think that we can trust him anymore.” Harry’s eyes lifted at the familiar words.

“That’s what Hedwig said.” Both Ron and Hermione looked at him at this, and he elaborated. “Before she sent us away. She said I would have power that Dumbledore could not even begin to imagine, and that I…we could no longer trust him.” Hermione frowned thoughtfully.

“But can we trust Hedwig?” Harry sent her a startled look, and she hastened to justify herself. “I mean, she was your familiar for four years, Harry. Why would she wait until now to help you?” The raven-haired Gryffindor shrugged indecisively.

“Maybe she couldn’t,” he offered, feeling defensive over his former pet. Hermione appeared not to feel inclined to agree with his answer.

“That seems highly unlikely, going by the massive power she showed last night.” Harry sighed in annoyance, but before he could say anything,

“Excuse me?” All three children jumped at the sound of the small, squeaky voice. “Over here! Do you think it would be too much trouble for you to pick me up?”

“Looks like it isn’t a Muggle set after all, Ron,” said Hermione with soft amusement. Ron’s blue eyes widened, and he jumped up from his seat and sprinted toward the chessboard. Sure enough, several of the white pieces were laughing at the black pawn’s predicament, whilst the black ones were yelling obscenities at Ron for his carelessness. With the expression of a kid let loose in a candy store, Ron beamed at Harry.

“Harry! Chess! Play!” The tension was broken as Harry chuckled at his friend’s behavior and rose from his seat to oblige him.

Hermione frowned as she returned to staring out the window. The topic of Vernon and Hedwig had been avoided with the help of chess pieces… but so had a solution to those problems. Perhaps… perhaps letting Vernon go wasn’t such a good idea after all. At least not yet, for Harry’s sake. It was true that doing so with Harry’s knowledge would cause some rather large complications, and it wasn’t like they could do it without him knowing, either.

“Bloody hell, but that had to hurt!” She smiled slightly at Ron’s exclamation, as well as Harry’s following groan. Hedwig had just better truly have the best intentions towards Harry, or there was going to be lots of pain for that woman.

After all, she had paid attention in Defense Against the Dark Arts last year… the Unforgiveables might just do the trick.

.T.

“I’m telling you, Mother, they have proof!” Cried Percy for the third time since arriving home. Currently, all Weasley children (save the youngest son, whose absence was still causing his mother much distress) were sitting around the rickety old table for lunch. Four of them gave their brother and mother an odd look, having absolutely no idea what he was going on about, the other two too absorbed in whatever they were planning to give a damn. All around them, several boxes stood on top of other boxes, a few opened to get out dishes for the meal. Molly Weasley had made it quite clear to anyone who asked that they would not be leaving the Burrow until Ron had re’turned, safe and sound.

The Weasley matriarch gave her son a cool look as she dropped mashed potatoes onto Ginny’s plate.

“Your brother is missing,” she said softly, and Charlie gave her a wary look. That tone was as close as their mother ever got to yelling; Percy had pissed her off. “And all you can talk about are a bunch of lewd claims made by a corrupt Minister of Magic!” The snooty redhead opened his mouth to protest, but Mrs. Weasley waved him off impatiently. “I don’t want to hear it, Percy. Now, you’re going to sit and enjoy this meal, and we’re not going to speak of this again.” Depositing potatoes on Bill’s plate, thus finishing her rounds, she took her seat, and looked at her third eldest son expectantly. However, Percy looked highly affronted by her words, and pushed his chair back so fiercely it nearly broke.

“I’m going over to Penelope’s,” he said bitingly. Sending a scowl towards all of his siblings, and a much deeper one at his mother, he stormed out of the kitchen, the sound of the fire roaring to life two seconds later letting them know that Percy had carried out with his words.

“Good riddance,” muttered George under his breath. Both twins looked slightly crestfallen, and the elder lightly dropped a contraption onto the table, one Charlie was fairly certain he had no desire to know what it did. Everyone traded glances with one another, but when Charlie and Ginny’s eyes clashed, she shot him a secretive smile, brown eyes dancing with a mixture of mischief and disgust, causing his blood to turn to ice. Impossible.

“Anyone home?” The familiar, warm voice of Remus Lupin interrupted any conversation that might have broken out, and all faces turned towards the entry of the kitchen as the kindly werewolf stepped in, a large, Grim-like dog pressed closely to his side. Mrs.Weasley leapt up from her seat, a bright smile on her face, obviously happy to have guests to distract her, and embraced the weak younger man lovingly.

“Remus! Why, we haven’t seen you for ages! Nor you, Sirius… you can go ahead and change into your human form if you would like. Percy’s just left.” The dog animagus did not need to be told twice, and instantly did so, causing Charlie’s breath to hitch in the same fashion it did with any attractive man. For Sirius Black was indeed attractive. His long black hair was been straightened, and it gleamed from the low ponytail it had been pulled into. His blue eyes twinkled mischievously as he studied the Weasley children, and the second-eldest Weasley son’s heart ached a little, for that twinkle would not be there if they knew.

“Hullo, Molly!” He greeted cheerfully, frowning a bit, as he did not see what he was looking for. Mrs. Weasley pulled away from Remus, beaming falsely at the two men.

“Would you like something to eat?” She inquired, already moving towards the stove. “We were just having lunch.”

“No, thank you, Molly,” said Remus softly, as he, too, scanned the room. “We were actually hoping to see Ron, if you don’t mind. We’re planning something for Harry’s birthday…” The former Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor trailed off at the sudden solemn looks that had befallen the faces of the Weasley Clan. “Is something wrong?”

His mother obviously did not wish to answer, as she had turned to face the window, so Charlie quickly jumped up from his seat before any of his siblings could volunteer.

“Can I, um, speak to you two in the living room for a moment?” The former Marauders gave him odd looks, but seeing that the expressions on the faces on the others were still the same, they obliged, allowing him to lead them out of the kitchen.

“Alright, Charlie, what’s going on?” Demanded Sirius softly once they were in the living room. The redhead shifted his weight nervously, attempting a smile.

“Perhaps you would like to sit down?” He asked cheerfully. Neither of the older wizards seemed amused.

“I think we’ll stand, thanks.” Charlie blanched at Sirius’ chilled tone. He took in a deep breath, and slowly answered.

“Well, you see, Ron took off yesterday…” And he delved into the whole tale, rather thankful that they already knew about his relationship with Severus, as it made things much easier to explain. The animagus grew angrier at each word, and it was obvious that Remus was having trouble subduing his wolf by the time Charlie’s account drew to a close.

“Dumbledore did tell us anything,” growled Sirius fiercely, fists clenched in anger. “He told us this morning to continue with our plans for Harry’s birthday party!”

“Sirius, please, keep your voice down. My Mum doesn’t know about Harry,” pleaded Charlie softly. The ex-convict of Azkaban shot him a cool glare, but kept his mouth shut. Remus, however, continued to look more murderous than he had ever seen.

“You said you sent a letter to them?” He asked after a moment, voice so low that Charlie barely heard it.

“Yes,” he confirmed. Remus nodded tightly.

“At least they’re together. We’ll have to go to our original plan B, I suppose, Padfoot,” he said, turning to face Sirius, their eyes of equal hardness. “I suppose we’ll be leaving then. Charlie, if, when they reply, you would be so kind as to tell them they are welcome at Marauder Palace, we would very much appreciate it.” Charlie smiled bitterly.

“Renamed it, did you?” Sirius snorted as he and Remus moved toward the front door.

“Of course. Take care of yourself, Charlie.” The redhead voiced his affirmative as the two elder wizards made their way towards Sirius’ flying motorcycle, the animagus turning back into his dog form before jumping into the basket on the side of it. With a sigh, Charlie closed the door and turned around, only to face the almond eyes of his only sister.

“We need to have a talk.”

.T.

He stared out the window, watching, with more sadness than he had ever felt before in his life, the rain and it fell peacefully to the earth. He wished with every fiber of his being that he could be on of those raindrops. So free, so carefree.

From above, the light of the half-moon shown brightly, illuminating the trees that surrounded the outside of the window. It was so beautiful; identical to what he had always dreamed his home to look like when he was a child. Perhaps, when Hedwig returned… if she returned… he could inquire to her as to whom it was who owned this place. Maybe he could purchase it from them… he would need some place to go now that Hermione and Ron had found out about the Dursleys.

“Harry?” Though Hermione’s voice was soft, he jumped anyways, turning around with an embarrassed feeling in his gut as his emerald eyes locked with her honey-brown ones. There was regret in her pools, sympathy, and more love than he could bear to look at. She reached out a hand to stroke his face, making sure to do so slowly so as not to frighten him, and he slowly leaned into the touch.

“I’m sorry, ‘Mione,” said Harry softly, looking away. Hermione’s hand stilled.

“Sorry?” She asked, startled despite herself. “What on earth do you have to be sorry for, Harry?”

“Arguing with you earlier,” he insisted quietly. “You had some good points for not trusting Hedwig, and I wouldn’t even bother to listen to them. It was just that… Hedwig was my only friend on Privet Drive. I mean, I had her before I knew you and Ron.” He sighed. “Emotionally attached to the subject; I shouldn’t have been allowed to give my opinion at all.”

“Oh, Harry,” whispered Hermione, voice filled with emotion as she stroked his face again. She opened her mouth to say something more, but the words would not come out. Instead, she gripped Harry’s wrists and pulled the slightly taller boy into a hug, feeling a spark of an unknown emotion within her as he tensed slightly. Softly, Hermione rubbed her hand over his back in circles. What had happened to her friend?

“So, does this mean you’re not fighting anymore?” The two Gryffindors broke apart at Ron’s words, Harry blushing faintly at the accusation whilst Hermione frowned. The red-haired teen was smiling at them, but his blue irises were serious as he gazed upon his two best friends. Had their earlier disagreement bothered him?

“Yeah,” muttered Harry, scuffing his shoes. Ron’s beam dropped to a sincere smile.

“Great,” he said lightly, before bringing his hand up to massage his head yet again. This time, it was Harry who frowned.

“Headache?” He inquired. The redhead nodded, waving it away as nothing serious.

“Just tired,” Ron assured, letting his hand drop. “I woke up first, remember?”

“Backwards,” agreed Harry, allowing himself to sound slightly amused. Hermione rolled her eyes at them both, though her concern for Ron’s constant head pains was still tapping on her brain pointedly.

“We should go to bed,” she said after a moment. “We’re all tired, and it might get rid of your headache, Ron.” The eldest arched an eyebrow.

“Do I have to, Mum?” He dodged to the side as she made a swipe at him, and Harry gave a small chuckle. They both turned to smile at the raven-haired teen, relieved at the noise, and he motioned towards the door.

“Same room?”

.T.

“Damn it all to bloody hell!”

The anguished cry of Sirius Black echoed throughout Marauder Palace, making the one and only house-elf snap away in surprise, and the portrait of Mrs. Black, which had yet to be removed, to spring to life, adding shouted obscenities to the cries. From in the kitchen, Remus Lupin winced as yet another one of the priceless Black heirlooms crashed to the floor, grating at his sensitive ears. His golden eyes were mournful as he watched his best friend and lover sink to the floor, tears of frustration and a little grief cascading down his face. The Grim animagus had kept up a good face in front of Charlie, but the second they had Apparated back to the palace, he had instantly began his distressed tantrum. Not matter how much his heart cried for him to do so, Remus did not stop him, knowing it would do the ex-convict good to release his emotions… he had not done so in a very long time. He would let him know when he was done.

“Harry, Moony.”

And there it was.

The werewolf moved quickly forward as Sirius sunk to the floor, mindful to avoid the shards of glass and pieces of small figurines that littered the floor, and wrapped his arms around his lover without a second thought. The larger man rested his head upon Remus’ shoulder, openly crying; yet not outright sobbing as his mate soothed him.

“Charlie said he is most likely with Ron and Hermione. Harry can take care of himself, not matter how much you and I wish he was still the innocent one-year-old we once knew him as,” whispered Remus quietly. “They are most likely just doing some of the rebellious stuff you were so big on. You are working yourself up over nothing, Padfoot.” The stubborn animagus shook his head.

“No. No, Remus, I’ve been feeling that something was off ever since Harry returned to those damn relatives of his. And I know something is wrong now.”

“Hush,” commanded Remus. “Harry will write to us if he needs any help. You heard Charlie – he wrote a letter to them. If they need help, we’ll know it.” Sirius grew quiet, relaxing more into Remus’ grip as he considered it. Remus waited anxiously, prepared to be more comforting should the need arise, when the other man sighed.

“I suppose you’re right,” he allowed after a moment. “It’s just… he’s all we have left, you know? And we haven’t been around much-.” Remus shushed him.

“I know.” The werewolf planted a kiss on the man’s raven hair, giving him a tight hug.

“No good scoundrel! Abomination! Shame of my flesh! How dare you destroy my father’s things!”

Both men chorused another set of sighs as Mrs. Black continued to screech her words, meeting the eyes of the other and rolling them in sync, both chuckling slightly.

“Would you like me to do it?” Inquired the werewolf lightly, eyes dancing. Sirius snorted as he pushed away and rose to his feet, reaching down to help his lover do the same, using the other to wipe away the tracks his tears had made on his face.

“Nah, you go and write that letter. I’ll take care of it.” Pressing a chaste kiss to his mate’s lips, Sirius bounded out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Shaking his head at the other’s antics, Remus made his way past Kreacher, who was quite happily sweeping up the mess his master had made, into the living room, where, on the desk, was a parchment and quill all ready for him.

Plan B. Muggle term that Sirius had had a rather hard time grasping. With a groan, Remus sat in the hard wooden chair, picked up the quill, dipped it ink, and began to write.

Auxilary,

My mate and myself have considered your proposal, as we informed you we would should your occasion come to pass. We quite tentatively express the desire to have you over for lunch tomorrow to discuss the situation. 

We have decided upon nothing permanent. Please remember this, and do not provoke my mate again.

Yours, etc.

R.J.L.

“You broke every piece, didn’t you, shameful creature? All of my father’s things!”

“YES, YOU CRAZY OLD BINT, AND THERE’S NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT! BECAUSE YOU’RE BLOODY DEAD!”

Remus chuckled when Mrs. Black did not respond to her son’s words, signaling that the animagus had seized the opportunity to close the curtains over the portrait. Shaking his head with a smile, he folded the parchment.

.T.

For one hundred and twenty-five years, he had lived in the Wizarding World. For one hundred and twenty-five years, he had experienced wonders far beyond the imaginations of any Muggle, Witch, or Wizard. He had seen places that were not to be found on even the most up to date, descriptive maps, magical or otherwise; wondrous places that one usually only witnessed in a fictional fantasy novel. He had seen and partaken in activities with creatures that could not be located on the pages within the bindings of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, many that were of the friendly sort (though Merlin knew he had had more than his fair share of the opposite). And through his one hundred and twenty-five years of living, Aberforth Dumbledore had witnessed magic so great that even the memory of the encounter left him in awe. This was all without the mention, of course, of the things that he had read in books that precious few people even knew existed.

But never before had he seen such a wonder as this.

The building, which the ever-secretive Hedwig had dully informed him was over one thousand and seventy years old, was far more magnificent than Hogwarts had been when he had first walked through her doors. It was the equivalent of a majestic palace, with white walls that contained solid-gold borders, and white floors with burgundy rugs with golden trim. It was lit magically, as though for hope that it would not bother the scattered few portraits as much as a Muggle fixture, and this only added to its beauty. On the ceiling, with more beauty and characteristic than any human could ever possess, was one of the most fascinating beings he had ever laid eyes on. It was a man, tall and well built, with a slim face, unruly black hair, and brown eyes that appeared to glare down at him with superiority. Within his left hand, crossing path across his legs to rest on what he assumed to be the floor, was a long, gleaming silver sword, an emerald green gem in its center. As he peered more closely at it, he could almost make out a faint tinge of crimson on the tip of the blade, which, upon further examination, he realized was settled next to a finely crafted, luminous… crown.

“The Half-Blood…” Aberforth’s honey eyes went wide as he shifted his gaze to the White Lady, who was standing several feet away, utterly unimpressed with the area. “The Half-Blood Prince,” he informed her, still very much awed by it. “That’s the Half-Blood Prince!”

“Of course it is,” snapped Hedwig softly, frowning at him. “Who were you expecting to see on the ceiling of such a place? Yourself?” Aberforth drew his thoughts away from the ceiling, slightly embarrassed by his immature manor, yet angrier at her reaction. She would be fortunate if she got through this bloody Summit without him killing her. “Now,” continued Hedwig, bringing his focus back onto her. “When we get in there, you would be wise to let me do all of the talking to begin with. There is not one being within that room that has not been victimized by a witch or wizard in one way or another. They will be wary of you and, depending on who you sit next to, may be somewhat hostile.” She caught the fault in his step as he moved closer to her, and hastened to fix her mistake. “You will be by me for most of the time, for I am the one who brought you here… as it is.” She paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. “I do not believe sitting down next to a complete stranger will be a problem you will have to deal with. More likely than not, the Elder of our court will want to hear all about your vision and Prophecy.”

“And quick in and out, then, is what you are attempting to convey?” Inquired the aged wizard, stopping beside her. Hedwig sent him a nasty smile.

“If that is what you wish to believe, then, by all means, do so.” Before Aberforth had a chance to comment on her sly look, there was a loud, resounding crack, and the startled wizard whipped around to see the intruder, whilst Hedwig simply, and casually, craned her head. Standing before them was a creature unlike any Aberforth had ever seen before. A cross between a house-elf, perhaps, and…a human? It was around four feet tall, closer to five, with large blue doe eyes, long flaxen hair, and a body slimmer and more skeletal looking than a skeleton itself. It cocked its head at them, and when it spoke, it voice held more elegance than Queen Elizabeth II could muster up.

“Lady Hedwig,” said the creature, giving her a bow. “You were expected hours ago.” Its tone was accusing, but Hedwig simply looked nonchalant.

“Yes, well, as you can see,” here, she motioned towards Aberforth. “I was on business. However, if the Council is that infuriated with me as to send you, Griphook, out to greet me, then perhaps myself and the Seer can go elsewhere.”

The creature – Griphook, as Hedwig had called it – stopped the threatening movement of what Aberforth now noticed to be clawed fingers, and was now staring at Hedwig with wide eyes.

“A Seer?” It inquired curiously. Before Aberforth had the opportunity to blink, the creature was right in front of him, its blue eyes peering into his honey ones. Suddenly, the outside world did not matter, and he found himself back on the streets of Diagon Alley. He could see a blurry figure in front of him, kneeling next to him, saying something…

“That is quite enough.”

At the calm yet harsh words, Aberforth found himself back in the center of the palace, Hedwig now in front of him, her white and black hair blocking half of his sight of Griphook, whose blue eyes had shrunk to the size of pennies as it glared at the White Lady.

“He is a Wizard,” hissed the creature venomously, flexing its fingers and baring sharp teeth Aberforth had also failed to notice. As he took an involuntary step back, Hedwig moved forward, a determined look upon her ageless face.

“Have I lost so much respect over the past four years that you feel you can speak to me in that fashion? Have I ever brought danger to the Council before?” She growled, amber eyes flashing. Griphook took the hint, albeit reluctantly, and stepped down. Hedwig gave a throaty noise of approval. “Now, are you going to allow us to sit in on this Summit or not?”

The horrific creature was silent for a moment, as though weighing its options. It was true that the Lady Hedwig had been called, and there was truly no opposition for her to go in. But this Wizard… Seer or not, he still posed a very serious threat. However… a smirk formed on its grotesque face. There would be several Council members who would be more than willing to taste the flesh of the mortal – to take out their revenge upon him for their sufferings. Lady Hedwig was no fool when it came to matters of the Prince, but tact was something she dearly lacked. Making up its mind, it moved out of their way and bowed low, directing its hand towards the door.

“My Lady.”

.T.

He massaged the point over his nose tiredly, blinking hard to try and get his eyes to focus on the scribbled text on the table. He had not slept for thirty-seven hours, twelve of which had been spent reading every damnable book that was now on his desk, in a vain attempt to find something that was at least similar to the bond that was affecting his lord. So far, he had come across Mind Bonds, Love Bonds, Enemy Bonds, and some rather odd situation that was referred to as a Sexual-Victim bond, in which a bond was formed between a rape victim and their attacker, except the attacker would feel unbearable pain every time the victim thought of the attack, whilst they felt nothing. Then there were ones he had never heard of, such as the Limb Bond (linking a person with a missing limb to a family member that did. Very rare, however, as it tended to drive people insane to have someone else controlling their arms and legs), and the Life Bond (though it was supposedly very common amongst Twins, where one would die not soon after the other).

None of these bore any resemblance to the bond between Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter.

With a growl of frustration, he slammed the book shut and tossed it off with the others. Pointless. The whole thing was bloody pointless! At this rate, his Lord would die from the pain he was feeling before he could find a way for him to cope with it. Letting lose a sigh, he reached over and grasped the next item in the ‘Bond Pile’, a particularly old and crispy copy of the Daily Prophet. A sneer formed on his aristocratic face.

“Bloody house-elves,” he growled. “I said only books.” However, his cool blue eyes could not help but scan over the headline, and his hand paused mid-movement of throwing it into the same pile as the previous book.

‘Boy Uses Blood Bond to Save Brother’s Life’   
Skimming the article, it revealed that the Blood Bond was when blood was given to another to bring them back from the brink of death. It was considered illegal, though, as it could lead to death should one of the two involved by horribly injured, which had the possibility, in turn, to kill the other.

He blinked. Lord Voldemort appeared to be suffering the symptoms of whatever was affecting Potter. Pain was more deadly than wounds… Without another thought, he stood and carefully rolled the paper up, sticking it gently in his pocket. Voldemort had to know about this immediately; perhaps Severus could brew a counteracting potion… he snapped his fingers, and a small house-elf instantly appeared with a pop.

“Yes, Master Lucius?” Inquired the aged elf formally. The blonde wizard glanced at it as he straightened his robe.

“Inform my wife and son that I have left to attend to business, and shall be back in time for dinner. Also, give my regards to Master Zabini, and well wishes to his health.” The creature bowed so low that its nose nearly touched the floor.

“As you wish, Master Lucius.” And they both disappeared with a crack.

.T.

.T.

“Silence, silence!” Lady Hedwig winced as the voice of the oldest elder hit her ears full-force, seeing from Aberforth’s own flinch that he had experienced the same thing. As she had expected, the Council Summit had had quite a problem with the Seeing Wizard’s presence, and the uproar it resulted in had lasted a good fifteen minutes, longer than the news of Lord Emer’s betrayal. She had spouted many a threatening word to creatures that had gotten too close to the man, or ones whose words had been a bit to hostile for her taste. Even now, her stance was intimidating, and prepared to strike without so much as a second thought, not relaxing even as the crowd grew to silence.

With Aberforth’s presence, every magical being that had served the Half-Blood Prince a thousand years ago was now represented in the chamber. Next to Aberforth, looking indifferent (though she knew he was not), was Lord Artemis, one of the oldest and highest-ranking elves to have ever lived in the Magical World, and the first elf Hedwig had seen in a century. Across from him was Dresda, the low-rank representative of the Veelas, though a very beautiful one, who was watching the scene with avid interest. Then there was Lord Slipknot of the goblins, who had voiced objections to Aberforth’s presence, and Lady Yna of Leprechauns – or the aggressive ones, anyway. It was well known that her clan had domesticated a large group of Lethifolds, and kept them for rather questionable purposes. There were, of course, other lords and ladies present, though they were none that had caught her interest. She did, however, notice the absence of the one she had been searching for with severe disappointment.

“Thank you,” grumbled the Elder gruffly, blue eyes narrowing dangerously upon them all. Hedwig was, not for the first time, struck by the odd curiosity of what kind of creature the Elder was. “Now, if we could continue on with our business,” here, he took another break to glare again. “I believe that our dear Lady Phoenix has a very interesting reason as to why she has brought Master Aberforth to our Summit.” He glanced at her, and she inclined her head in acknowledgement, not rising from her seat, as she did not feel the lords and ladies around her deserved that kind of respect.

“Indeed I have, my Lord,” she agreed. “Master Aberforth is a very old acquaintance of mine, sir. A Seer,” she said quickly, having heard whispering from the house-elves in the back. Casting them a cold look, she continued her explanation. “Yesterday, the beginning of Anno Domini, he had a vision… one the concerns the arrival of our Lord.” Gasps echoed throughout the room, and everyone sat up a little straighter, the distaste in their eyes for Aberforth softening as they gave him their undivided attention. The Elder himself looked very much intrigued by this new revelation, and looked questioningly at Aberforth.

“Master Wizard, what did this vision entail, exactly?” He asked. Hedwig bit back a smirk as Aberforth froze at the direct address from someone he had taken to be a very important figure. She nudged him in the side with her elbow, and he shot her a dark look before answering the waiting creatures.

“Your Lord… my Lord,” he started awkwardly. There was snickering from somewhere on the table, but a sharp look from Hedwig silenced him. “He was in pain, my Lord. Someone was hurting him.” Aberforth was forced to raise his voice to be heard over yet another outburst. “I saw him rise to power… and there was quite a lot of it. More so than my brother could ever hope to acquire.”

“Who dares to hurt the Half-Blood Prince?” Snarled Dresda, face scrunching into the horrifying expression Veelas were so popular for. Several others voiced on her question, and the Elder frowned a he slammed his gavel onto the table.

“SILENCE!” He roared, at which his request was immediately followed. Giving them all yet another warning glare, he turned his attention back to Aberforth. “I suppose there was a prophecy given with this vision?” He waited for the hesitant nod before continuing. “It is something I would very much like to hear, if you don’t mind. I can assure you that we are all trustworthy.” He added, seeing the wizard’s suspicious look. Fidgeting nervously, Aberforth rose from his seat, cleared his throat, and began to recite.

“He shall be born when the seventh month dies, though already he lives,

A child of abuse and deceit, the Half-Blood Prince.

And with him he shall bring but two, who will also be born anew,

And with their rise, the Wizarding World will be different from what you once knew.

Blood will combine, and enemies friends,

To defend the one they call Prince.”

.T.

Flash!

A woman carrying a screaming infant in her arms, depositing it on a random porch of a random house.

Flash!

Two men fighting, their swords clashing with dazzling brilliance. He felt nauseated as the larger of the two plunged his blade into the chest of the other.

Flash!

A young man with dark black hair and yellow eyes standing in the center of a crowd, screaming inaudible words at the people around him.

Flash!

Two dirty, ripped-robed red-haired men removing, from what seemed to be his wrists, a pair of rusty shackles, hoisting him up and dragging him away. It hurt.

Flash!

The same two men helping him run down a muddy road towards a fancy-looking house, a strike of lightning lighting up a wooden sign in his path, the word “Princelon” beaming brightly down at him.

Flash!

“Harry. Harry!”

Emerald eyes snapped open as their owner shot up in his bed. Harry gazed around the room wildly, no sign of recognition on his features as he gazed at the worried Ron and Hermione. Without a word, he pushed back his blankets and jumped from the bed, mindless of his name being called after him, and made his way towards the library, his two friends on his heels.

“Harry! Mate, slow down, will you?” Demanded Ron, very much confused. “What’s wrong? Did you have a nightmare? Was it Voldemort?”

“No,” Harry replied shortly, not stopping as he entered his room of choice. Without hesitation, he made his way briskly toward the large window, and drew back the curtain.

“Harry, what are you doing?” Hermione asked as she and Ron reached him. The Seeker did not answer, instead staring out the window with a glazed look in his eyes.

“Harry?” Implored Ron as Hermione, too, looked out the window. A gasp from her mouth drew his attention to her. Curiously, Ron looked through, jaw dropping. Finally, Harry spoke up, though his words were quite needless.

“That’s not Hogsmeade.”

.T.

He watched with a gleeful gaze as his dementors glided across the village, swooping down, enjoying their feast. It was a luxury that they would not get should the Half-Blood Prince return to power once more; a pleasure that the Prince would refuse them, as though he actually had power over them.

Lord Emer floated by his pets, feeling oddly light as they made noise of joy as they ate, feeling hungry as he heard the terrified screams of their prey, and made his way towards his destination. He would not let the heir of James Slytherin claim rights to the Wizarding World, and within this house was his key to stop it. The one from the prophecy...

The Chosen One.

TBC

Next chapter will have a bit of every character I have thus far introduced (sarcastic “yay!”). Sirius was bit emotional in this chapter, eh? Hehehehehe. Some Charlie and Severus angst next chapter, too. (Oh, yes. I do LOVE to hint) 

Couples Thus Far

Harry Potter and Thomas Riddle II (aka Lord Voldemort) – given in summary

Charlie Weasley and Severus Snape – Chapter Two

Blaise Zabini and Ronald Weasley – Chapter Three

Sirius Black and Remus Lupin – Chapter Four

 

Also, I’ll be starting a deleted-scene ‘story’ within the next month or so, as I cut so many things out of this bloody story. So, if you’re interested, look for it in late October.

Please, if you liked it, review it. I’m hungry –cackle-

Adios.

-SA


	6. Princelon

  
Author's notes: [HPLV slash] AU Fifth year. Dark Trio. Dumbledore should have realized he could not keep the Golden Trio under his thumb forever. There are secrets about Harry Potter that not even he knows, and some are much more bigger than others.  


* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, or any other character found within J.K. Rowling’s novels. (Those books would not be fit for the eyes of a child if I did –snicker-) To elaborate further, I also do not intend this fanfiction to be any form of slander, nor do I make profit from it. (May I continue on with my story now? –glare-)

Apologies: 2 months? I am so sorry for the wait on this chapter! School, however, it not as easy as they make it out to be. I was assigned a new English teacher, and she has decided that, as honors students, we should have no problem writing an essay on college-level standards, research papers, and speeches once every other week! –glares- Anyway, I, again, apologize. I shall try my hardest to make sure it never happens again.

IMPORTANT NOTE: Lots of you have said I jump around too much, and I realize that this is most true with this story than any of my others. But fear not! All of my little plots will be combined into a rather large (and hard) one by chapter nine! Yay! So, please, just sit with me until then.

Reviewers: Ah! –glomps/tackles/hugs- I love you, I love you, I love you! You make me cry! I love you!

Warnings: Seen them on the previous four chapters? You have? Good. That’s what they are. Now be gone and continue.

Chapter Five

“He shall be born when the seventh month dies, though already he lives,

A child of abuse and deceit, the Half-Blood Prince.

And with him he shall bring but two, who will also be born anew,

And with their rise, the Wizarding World will be different from what you once knew.

Blood will combine, and enemies friends,

To defend the one they call Prince.”

Amber eyes stared blankly into space as those around her went about their own business. Her body was stiffer than that of a corpse as she grew lost in thought, and anyone who felt compelled to shake her out of her stupor suddenly found themselves concerned with their appearance. However, Hedwig was truly not aware of any of this as she fell deeper and deeper within herself.

It was not what she had been expecting.

The prophecy… it was different than the one James had given a century ago. Hedwig had been there at the time, bathing the sweat off the forehead of the man who had killed so many, as he lay dieing from the poison of a traitor. He had spoken just as highly of his heir as Aberforth had, but never had there been a mention of two others, nor, indeed, alliances forming between enemies of old to protect him. James had made the boy out to be an incarnate of himself, with just as much power and evil as what he had possessed.

Of course, she had doubted that prophecy before. She had lived with Harry Potter for four years, and never had she sensed or witnessed any evil from him. In his second year at Hogwarts, there had been a small glimmer of hope for the prophecy, but the entire thing had simply turned out to be a fluke. Harry had not been responsible for the petrifications or the kidnapping and near death of Ginerva Weasley.

But still, the prophecy Aberforth gave seemed quite farfetched, when one took into account the actions and words of Harry Potter’s ancestor.

“Hedwig.”

Instantly, the guardimagus’ eyes grew alert, and her body relaxed as her eyes landed on the speaker. Atonis always had the “authority effect” on her. Well over three thousand years old, the Elder had been James’ guardimagus – a runespoor, if she remembered correctly, which fit the old man perfectly, with his bipolar moods. He had been her mentor for five hundred years, training her up for the years of solitude being a guardimagus entailed. Over that course of time, she had come to view the blue-eyed, ageless man as more of a friendly father figure than anything.

“Atonis,” she nodded, returning the greeting. She observed him for a moment. He seemed older than he had when she seen him last. Heavier (though not in the physical way), more… weary, as though he were exhausted from something. Atonis appeared to understand the meaning behind her study, for he gave her a soft smile, but when he spoke, it was on an entirely different matter altogether.

“I noticed that Lord Emer did not attend the Summit this evening,” he said lightly, taking a seat beside her. His tone was nonchalant, but Hedwig knew he had caught onto the drift of the situation. “Have you any idea why?”

“Several,” she responded dryly. “None of which would interest you in the slightest, my lord.” Atonis cocked an eyebrow skeptically, and she allowed herself a small chuckle. “I did inform him of the Summit, if that is what you are asking. But you and I both knew that he wouldn’t attend.” The elder nodded, eyes flashing.

“What he did was unforgivable, of course, but… I fear it was destined to be so.” Hedwig gave him a sharp look, and he elaborated. “No ruler has ever come into power without first fighting to obtain it. James destroyed the most powerful witch and wizard that existed in his time, as well as the whole of the Magical Ministry. Albus Dumbledore destroyed that rogue wizard, whatever his name may be, and he and Lord Voldemort have been in a stalemate for ages. You may think of it as tradition, if you please.” Hedwig scowled.

“I would much rather think of it as “unnecessary”, if you don’t mind.” Atonis sighed.

“Nonetheless, Lord Emer has already begun the hunt. The Dementors, along with several other magical beasts around the world, were treated poorly under that reign of the last Half-Blood Prince, and will do whatever it takes to make it so that does not happen again.”

“Harry is not James,” stated Hedwig firmly, protectiveness for the child-prince swelling inside of her. The Elder simply gave her a pointed, knowing look, and suddenly shifted in his seat, groaning as his bones moved about, closing his eyes and stretching a but, and the owl guardimagus winced at the sound of their creaking. “Are you alright?” She inquired hastily. One blue eye popped open, and Atonis sent her a reassuring smile.

“I’m growing old,” he said by way of excuse. His eyes sought out the window, where the first signs of daybreak were beginning to show in the sky, and they took on a sort of dazed, in-depth appearance. “We all are, though we may not feel it.”

“Sir?” Hedwig allowed concern to creep into her normally stable voice. Perhaps this mess was finally beginning to take its toll on him…he should go lie down…

“Our time is drawing to a close.” Hedwig snapped back to attention as the Elder began to speak. “The role of the Guardimagus’, no matter how vital to the survival of our lords and ladies it once was, is nearly unneeded. Soon…yes…soon.” His eyes focused again, and his smile toward her returned. “You will be back with you lord soon, yes?” Before Hedwig could speak, the noise of those left in the room raised, and the two gazes shot over to the far left where Aberforth had been cornered by obnoxiously curious house-elves. Atonis frowned. “You should get him out of here and back to his home.”

“And how is his absence to be explained?” Hedwig, unnerved by the previous speech, was snappish, but not rebuked, as the Elder seemed to understand. Instead, he cocked an eyebrow at the younger woman, causing her to slump slightly in her seat.

“Hedwig-,” he started, but she waved him off with a sigh.

“I know, I know.” With a sigh, she rose from her seat. “I’ll do it, no need to worry. It’s only been my job for fifteen-hundred years.” And with that, she walked toward her charge.

Atonis watched with a smile on his face as she threatened the small creatures within an inch of their lives.

It would be sad to see her go.

.T.

A year ago, given the situation, the thought would have never entered her mind, let alone having her consider it. Then again, a year ago, she would never have run away from home, nor encouraged the usually family-loyal Ronald Weasley to do the same. A year ago, she would never have gone against the direct orders of her Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, and taken Harry from the ‘protection’ of the Dursleys.

But, that had been a year ago. She had wizened up since then. She began to understand that not everyone had the best interest of herself and her friends at heart, especially not Albus Dumbledore. Healing the battered and bleeding Harry Potter had forced her to realize that.

As Hermione stared at the slumped form of her best friend, watching as he took half-hearted, small bites of the eggs he had fixed them all for breakfast, she honestly found herself considering it. She knew the raven-haired, teenage savior was still deep in thought over his dream from last night, and what it had revealed. They all were. The fact that the village below them was not, in fact, Hogsmeade, thus meaning the house they were residing in was not the Shrieking Shack, had placed all three of them a bit on edge, Harry most of all. She knew he longed to go down there, to explore it, to see if whatever had occurred in his dream was truly connected to it.

And she was considering, against better judgment, to all it.

Not that she would let him go alone, of course.

The brunette Gryffindor arched an eyebrow as Ron walked into the kitchen, hair still dripping wet from the shower, making it gleam in the magical lighting. His cerulean eyes instantly sought out her honey ones. ‘Any better?’ they seemed to ask, signifying Harry. Noting the other boy had not so much as shifted to acknowledge Ron’s presence, Hermione gave a small shake of her head. Her friend gave a disappointed sigh and moved to sit down across from them, forming their usual perfect triangle, slipping his spoon into the bowl already waiting for him. Knowing how protective he was of Harry, Hermione doubted he would agree to her idea. But it was far past the time to take Ron’s thoughts into consideration.

She wanted Harry back. Clearing her throat, she began her campaign.

“It’s an odd little village, isn’t it?”

She watched as both of the boys stilled at her words. Ron instantly looked up to shoot her a warning glance, but she could practically feel Harry’s tentative hope growing. Cautiously, she continued.

“It doesn’t appear to be influenced like the Wizarding villages we’ve come across. It makes me wonder where exactly it is we are.” Ron’s glare became more heated. “I wonder if they have any newspapers? Think we’re on the front page?” Oh, if looks could kill…

“Dumbledore’s probably keeping it under wraps for a while,” said Harry softly, tone light, causing Hermione and Ron to blink in surprise. They were the first words he had said since last night, and they were shy.

“No,” said Ron instantly, sensing the two were making the decision already. “We don’t even know where the hell we are.”

“All the more reason to go,” insisted Hermione quickly as Harry watched the scene curiously. “I, for one, don’t want to discover we’re in…oh, say, Japan when it’s finally time to return to Hogwarts.” Ron scoffed.

“It doesn’t look anything like Japan out there.” Hermione scowled.

“And how would you know what Japan looks like, Ronald? I doubt you’ve opened a text book recently.”

“Guys-,” Harry started, but was waved off.

“It doesn’t matter! We are not risking our safety so that you can study ‘exotic places’. Think about Harry!”

“I am thinking of Harry!”

“Knock it off!” Both Hermione and Ron jumped as the bowls below them shattered into pieces, turning wide eyes toward an infuriated Harry. “Bloody hell, can’t you two get on for just one minute without bickering like siblings?” Before either one of them could say anything, Harry jumped up from the table and took off into the other room. Shooting Ron her best murderous glare, which was returned in equal strife, Hermione followed, the redhead at her heels.

They found him on the stairwell, sitting on the seventh step up, knees drawn to his chest and head buried between them. He wasn’t crying, but Hermione could feel the despair coming off of him in waves. Sharing a concerned look with her other friend, they moved forward cautiously, resting a hand on one of his shoulders respectively.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” Inquired Ron softly, the only one who could manage to form any words. Harry raised his head, guilt-ridden emerald orbs instantly drawing them into his sorrow.

“I didn’t mean to lose control like that,” he explained softly, as though he thought he was in trouble. “I just… got so angry with your fighting…” He drew off, and looked down once more. “I lost control.”

“It’s alright, Harry,” soothed Hermione in her sisterly fashion. “Everyone loses control of their magic now and then. It’s just because you were emotional-.” Harry shook his head fiercely, looking back up.

“You don’t understand!” He cried in frustration, throwing his hands up, effectively shaking off their touches. “I’ve felt like this a lot recently. I’ve done little things, like blowing up my pillows, levitating Hedwig’s,” here, he flinched at the reminder that Hedwig wasn’t as she appeared. “cage, conjuring a patronus, all without a wand! My magic’s going haywire.” He took in a deep breath. “And it’s gotten worse since we’ve gotten here. I busted the mirror in the bathroom yesterday when I saw the…scars.” He looked down again, and Ron blinked. So that’s what happened to the stupid thing.

Hermione shot him a helpless glance, and he gave a mental groan as his headache began to return. Curse the Fates and their fucking prewritten destinies! Just looking at his once confident, happy friend looking so lost and helpless made his heart wrench. He had made himself lose his own battle…he hoped Hermione would let him live it down.

“Alright,” he said finally, catching his housemates off guard. They looked at him curiously. “We’ll go to this village and see what’s up, and if there’s anything there that can help you, Harry.” The raven-haired boy looked relieved. Quickly, Ron rounded on Hermione. “But, if anything happens, I’m entitled to give you an “I told you so” and murder rights, got it?” Hermione simply smiled. With a sigh, Ron reached a hand out to Harry. “Can I at least finish eating breakfast first?

.T.

It was seventy years ago when he had signed himself over to his destiny. Contrary to common belief by those whom knew of the event, it had not been a pre-meditated move. Rather, it had been over the course of one measly week instead of months and months in advanced. A mere seven days of mulling it over before he had fallen in. He had known the hardships would be great, and the sacrifices even greater, but Lord Voldemort had fallen in, sunk below his had, because he believed it to be the best way to achieve his goal.

But though the powers of Dark Magic were great, it proved to be just as tricky and twisted as the Light Magic he despised so much. He had been pathetically corrupted with ease, becoming the dark equivalent to Dumbledore. It had taken him in, drove him to insane madness. His goals to strengthen the magic within the Wizarding World to keep it from dying out were taken to horrifying extremes, leading to the deaths of thousands of Muggles and Muggle-borns, as well as the murders of hundreds of pure-blooded, powerful witches and wizards of whom his original cause was meant to affect. On a deep subconscious level, Lord Voldemort had known this to be the opposite of what he had wanted, and had desperately searched for a way out.

That way out had been served to him several years into the First War, quite forcefully and rather painfully, by an infant known to all as Harry James Potter.

For thirteen years, he had floated about the world, from Romania to North America, possessing this person, killing that person, using whatever means necessary to find and kill the child who had caused his destruction. Yet, with every encounter between him and Potter, with every battle, the insanity that had long consumed him began to drain away, the last wave use din the duel of his resurrection. He had collapsed after Potter had escaped with the portkey, remembering Lucius’ strong arms keeping him from hitting the ground.

He had awakened three months later, with his mind in that state it had been in during his first year of lordship, and though it had not been planned, thanks to a potion by Severus, his physical body followed the transformation.

It had been an hour five hours since Lucius had informed him of the Blood-Bond he and Potter had unknowingly created during the resurrection spell, and three hours since he had sent the man, along with Severus, who had been attending to him, back home. He knew damn well what that particular Bond was, though as what he was going to do about it, he wasn’t sure.

The fact that the pain he had been feeling was actually Potter’s brought a great deal of curiosity to him, much so that it served to give him a headache. He couldn’t understand what had caused Dumbledore’s Golden Boy so much pain. Granted, his mind ran with reasons, countless reasons, all more unbelievable than the last. Just because the pain on his beck had felt similar to the lashings he had received at the orphanage he grew up in did not mean that Potter had been abused…

Right?

Lord Voldemort was cut short of his musings as a sharp rap sounded on the study door. Eyes that were a mesh of crimson and blue rose as a head of long blonde hair stuck itself inside. The Dark Lord cocked an eyebrow.

“Did I not send you home?” He inquired dryly. Lucius sent him a brief apologetic smile.

“My apologies, my Lord. However, my son and Mr. Zabini have a matter of the utmost urgency they must take up with you that they claimed could not wait.” Voldemort adopted his rare concerned look that he only wore for Death Eaters he cared about, the young always included.

“Is he well?” Lucius looked down.

“He does not look it, my Lord. May they come in?” Lord Voldemort nodded.

“Of course.”

.T.

Dudley Dursley had never been a quiet boy. Even as an infant, he would keep his parents awake from seven in the evening until the crack of dawn with his wailing. It was not uncommon for the neighbors to hear the boy throughout a good ten hours of the day, either with his exaggerated laughing or loud demands from him to his parents.

Which was why many of them felt quite odd that morning. For the past two days, they had heard nothing from the Dursley residence, even though all signs indicated that they were home.

As the obese fifteen-year-old sat on his couch, a somber look on his face, he found himself unable to form any words. This had been the case since his cousin and his freak friends had left, taking with them his father, shrunk to the size of his thumb, in a jar. Dudley had never liked magic – not since four years ago, when that giant man had given him a pig’s tail.

It had been a rather horrifying experience.

His beady, watery blue eyes lifted at the sound of a rather loud crunch, expression dropping even more. Across from him, looking more content than he had ever seen her, was his mother, large floppy brown ears included, munching loudly on her seventeenth carrot of the morning. Despair flooded through him. A rabbit for a mother, and a midget for a father.

How in the world was he supposed to go out in public with them?

Assuming his father was returned, of course…

A loud, yet somewhat refined rap sounded on his front door, and Dudley froze. Mrs. Figg had already come over twice to check on things, and Mrs. Reeves from number five across the way had tried to sweet-talk her way in three times. Dudley honestly didn’t think he could handle holding off her attempts again.

Nonetheless, as the knocker repeated his actions, Dudley heaved himself up from the couch, shot his mother a concerned glance, and opened the door.

To face a man looking more odd than the woman he had in his house.

He was very tall, and very old, judging by his appearance. He had a beard that he had tucked into the belt of his… were those robes? Yes, they were, and brightly colored ones, too! Dudley stumbled back in shock, eyes wide and mouth trying vainly to form words that would not come out.

Blue eyes twinkled merrily from behind half-moon glasses, and the man moved forward with a smile.

“Good morning! You must be Dudley. My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I am here concerning Harry Potter,” said the man cheerfully. “Is your mother or father in, per chance?” Dudley, still unable to form a word, let alone a sentence, shot an anxious glance toward his rabbit-mother, a glance that the man, unfortunately followed.

“Oh,” said Albus, sounding taken aback as Mrs. Dursley happily finished her carrot. “Oh dear.”

.T.

He was captivated. Never before had his eyes fallen on such a spectacular sight. Even when he had entered Diagon Alley, and seen the wonders of magic, the effect it had had on him was nothing compared to this. How Ron could have ever thought this to be a place of evil was beyond him.

The streets were made of dirt, and the buildings of sandblasted stone or contrasting dark, smooth marble. The place was obviously magical, as Hermione had hinted it would be, for it was filled with objects and creatures Harry had never before seen, be it by first-hand or in text. Some buildings had signs above them made from wood, others with the famed neon lights so popular in the Muggle World. Even yet, some signs were made from pure formed magic, whilst others were formed by annoyed looking, yet calm little winged, glowing beasts. There were colors everywhere, and happy, smiling faces to go with them. Not even Diagon Alley had held such interesting people. Some looked to be mere Muggles, whilst others were obviously witches and wizards, judging by their robes and visible wands. There were also were also, to his surprise, Veelas, goblins, and creatures that resembled the elves he had once seen in a library book. They moved peacefully amongst each other, exchanging friendly words or an occasional snarl as they bartered over one good or another.

It was amazing. It was…spectacular. It was…

“Not part of the plan, here, people!” Grumped the annoyed, slightly panicked voice of his best friend. Harry heard Hermione snicker at Ron’s complaint. “It’s not funny, ‘Mione!” The redhead exclaimed.

“Oh, Ron,” said the witch patiently. “Look around. I highly doubt that we’re going to be picked out among this lot; several people are cloaked like us. Besides.” Harry could hear the same wonder in Hermione’s voice that he felt. “Have you ever seen anything like it?”

Ron took a moment to mull over a response. “No,” he bit out reluctantly. Harry smirked.

“Just relax, Ron. Enjoy it.” Hermione turned her head so he could see her warm eyes.

“Feeling better, Harry?” She inquired, tone just light enough to keep the seriousness of the question from being apparent. Harry’s smirk grew to a smile.

“Much. It feels so…familiar, somehow. Like I’ve been here before.” Hermione returned the smile, though Ron had yet to say anything. She frowned as the tallest of the trio reached up to rub his head.

“Headache back again?” She demanded. Ron’s hand instantly dropped, and he turned to give her a small smile.

“Nah, just an itch,” he assured. Harry was about to join Hermione in her interrogation, when he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. His gasp instantly drew the attention of his two friends.

“What is it, Harry?” Voiced Ron, looking in the direction Harry was gazing. Hermione did the same, and their jaws dropped at the same time.

It was a tall statue of a woman situated in the center of a large, deep fountain. Her features were that of a goddess. An ageless face, all-knowing eyes, long hair.

It was an exact replica of Hedwig.

“How…?” Hermione began before drawing off, not knowing how to finish her question. Ron and Harry were in equal stupor.

“I knew this wasn’t a good idea,” said Ron softly, taking a step back, only to collide with a soft body, resulting in a surprised yelp and a quick turnabout. Alerted, Harry and Hermione did the same.

The person Ron had accidentally backed into was actually a young girl, no older than them (perhaps even younger), with long, light-blonde hair and wide, smiling sky-blue eyes. She was smiling at them in a fashion usually worn by locals when confronting a tourist, and as she appeared human, all but Harry relaxed slightly.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Inquired the girl, motioning toward the statue of Hedwig. They shifted nervously. To not answer would be rude and raise suspicion, but to answer threatened conversation, which could lead to being revealed. Perhaps this hadn’t been the best idea after all.

“Quite,” said Ron finally, stepping back a bit more to be in a more protective stance over Hermione and Harry. The girl, however, did not seem to notice, instead moving up to the base of the fountain.

“I’m Luna Lovegood,” she said, as though it were not important. “And that, is the Lady Phoenix,” she said in introduction of the statue. “More commonly known as the White Lady or Lady Hedwig. She protects the citizens of Princelon from evil. She is said to be the guardimagus-in-training for the heir of the Half-Blood Prince.” The Trio froze.

“Who?” Hermione forced out. Hedwig had been watching over Harry…had called him ‘my lord’ more than once. Ron and Harry’s tension signaled that they, too, had made the connection.

Luna turned, eyes wide with shock. “You don’t know who the Half-Blood Prince is?” She demanded, sounding scandalized.

”We’ve only just arrived,” said Harry quickly, surprising his friends with his forwardness. “A friend of ours just helped us…move… into that house up there.” He gave a slight nod toward the house they had been in, which was situated atop a large hill, looking just as grand on the outside as it did the inside. The girl looked, and gasped.

“You’ve come form Prince Manor?” She cried. Several people turned curiously at her wail, but noticing nothing different, looked away, sending occasional glances in their direction. Ron, not liking the attention, instantly became defensive.

“If that’s the house up there, then yes,” he growled. Luna shrieked again and jumped on the balls of her feet.

“This is… this is… oh, dear Lady!” She exclaimed, before suddenly falling quiet. She glanced around in a manner similar to that of a spy, and when she spoke, her words were soft and cautious. “You must come with me back to my shop! It’s too dangerous to be having such discussions here!” Hermione moved to protest, but Harry stopped her. She cast him a curious glance, and noticed with concern that his face had paled.

“Harry?” She asked softly. Ron whirled around at the concerned tone, noting his friend’s state.

“I…feel something. We should go with her. She’s right. It isn’t safe.” The older two shared a glance, and Ron gave a reluctant nod. Questioning Harry’s instincts now wasn’t the best of ideas, not when he had been right so far.

As the Trio cautiously followed Luna, they remained unaware of the yellow eyes watching them, or of the puppet-like shadow that cackled with glee as it floated away.

.T.

When Blaise had awoken that morning, it had been to a still pounding headache and a body whose shivering would not cease. He had been more thirsty than a man who had walked a week in the desert, a more weak than a newborn infant. His stalling to go and speak with the Dark Lord was cut short by the ever-concerned Draco, who had fetched his father to bring him here.

‘Here’ being on a chair within the study of Lord Voldemort, the most feared dark wizard of the century. Blaise sighed and closed his eyes.

Flash!

A woman carrying a screaming infant in her arms, depositing it on a random porch of a random house.

Flash!

Two men fighting, their swords clashing with dazzling brilliance. He felt nauseated as the larger of the two plunged his blade into the chest of the other.

Flash!

A young man with dark black hair and yellow eyes standing in the center of a crowd, screaming inaudible words at the people around him.

Flash!

Two dirty, ripped-robed red-haired men removing, from what seemed to be his wrists, a pair of rusty shackles, hoisting him up and dragging him away. It hurt.

Flash!

The same two men helping him run down a muddy road towards a fancy-looking house, a strike of lightning lighting up a wooden sign in his path, the word “Princelon” beaming brightly down at him.

Flash!

Blaise opened his eyes instantly as he unwilling recalled last night’s dream. He had no idea what to make of it, no idea what it could mean. Obviously, it had something to do with his lord, but as to what, exactly, he didn’t know. His lord wasn’t in the danger he had been in the night before, that much was clear, since he wasn’t bedridden with the effects.

Perhaps it foretold looming danger?

The sound of a vial crashing to the floor drove the black Slytherin back to the present, and his head shot up to see the youthful Dark Lord rummaging through the cabinet in the far corner of the study. He winced every time a vial of what were obviously Professor Snape’s most intensive potions pointlessly hit the floor and shattered, their contents seeping out onto the floor, wasted.

“Perhaps I should send for Severus, my Lord?” Implored Lucius, trying to be of service. “He may know where it is.”

“No,” came Lord Voldemort’s muffled voice. “I would have to kill him if you did. Putting all of these health-restoratives and blood-replenishing potions in here; it’s not like I need them – got it.” The feared dark wizard extracted himself from the cabinet, a bottle of must blue liquid locked tightly within his tanned hand. “Haven’t needed to use this thing in nearly twenty years.” He lifted his multicolored eyes to look at Blaise. “You really should stop and think before you go and sign yourself off to a destiny you know nothing about, Mr. Zabini.”

Blaise simply blinked at him as he took the proffered vial. “All I do is drink this and it’ll say who my lord is?” He asked softly, wrinkling his nose at it.

“It won’t taste good, and there may be some pain involved, but yes, it will work.” Blaise glanced down at the bottle with a sigh, but with a stern look from Draco, uncorked it, shuddering at the sight of the dust that flew from it, threw his head back, and drank.

Lord Voldemort’s warning proved to be an understatement. Blaise gagged as the thick liquid traveled down his throat. It felt as though it were burning his throat. His eyes watered as the feeling of blisters forming and popping filled the small tunnel. He was chocking now…or at least it felt like he was. He was gagging, trying to make it go the other way, to leave him, to just go.

And suddenly, it stopped.

Blaise blinked himself back to reality, noticing that he had not moved an inch from where he had been when he had first drank from the bottle. His throat felt perfectly normal, and his eyes had no wetness that he could feel.

“Did it work?” He questioned, unable to find it within himself to refer to Voldemort as ‘lord’. However, when he looked up, he saw that none of the men were paying him the smallest bit of attention. Instead, they were staring with shocked eyes at something above him. Slowly, very slowly, and with much caution, Blaise tilted his head back, eyes widening at the sight of the name floating above him.

Harry Potter

.T.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron were quite certain that they had never purposely walked into such a sticky situation. The only witch of the trio was taken by surprise that Ron had yet to hiss an “I told you so” in her ear, or claim the murdering rights he had demanded to have. Harry, however, was far too busy studying the aspects of the village to care, and Ron, too, seemed to becoming interested, though was just alert enough to jump in if trouble arose.

As they swiftly made their way further and further down the twisting dirt alley, Luna Lovegood, a girl they were beginning to find more strange than dangerous and untrustworthy, rattled on and on about the village. Her openness was a tad odd, considering that only a few moments ago she had been paranoid about mentioning it, but Hermione decided that as it was not directly speaking of them being in ‘Prince Manor’ or anything about Hedwig, it was not nearly as dangerous. Indeed, that seemed to be Luna’s thought exactly.

“Princelon is a multicultural village, if you haven’t already noticed. Of course, it originally started out as place for Squibs and Muggle relatives of Muggle-borns. That changed about thirty-five years into its existence, I think, when three rouge wizards showed up not long after the defeat of the Half-Blood Prince.” She giggled suddenly, as though amused by something they had missed out on. Ron, who had been an instant non-fan of the blonde-haired girl, caught the eye of his two companions. ‘Mad’, he mouthed, rolling his own blue irises. Hermione smiled softly in response, whilst Harry looked away, attempting to hide his own smirk. “It was rumored that one of the wizard’s was the Prince’s husband, rescued by rebels, and that they came here to hide, apparently not knowing of the Prince’s death until several days later.”

“Husband?” Hermione gasped suddenly, surprised. Ron jerked his head around, smirking at the brunette witch, who did not notice that it appeared slightly forced.

“You never struck me as a homophobic, ‘Mione,” he said in soft teasing banter. Hermione glared, cheeks tinged with a light pink.

“That’s because I’m not,” she growled in insistence. “It’s just that… homosexuals can’t marry in the Muggle world.”

“Well, this isn’t the Muggle world,” said Luna cheerfully, as though nothing had happened. “Now, come on. My shop is right over there.” And she started moving forward again, expecting them to keep up.

It was then that the Trio saw by what she meant as ‘multicultural’.

What they had witnessed before were not the occupants of Princelon. No, that had simply been their version of a smaller Diagon Alley – a simple place to buy, sell, and trade goods. Obviously, some of those creatures lived here, but this…this was the polar opposite.

It was Muggle.

Men, women, boys, and girls walked about in plain Muggle clothes, accessorized with Muggle things, no sign of a magical artifact anywhere. Some looked as though they belonged in the higher society of Whales, whilst others were adorned in the attire and makeup of the common rebel teenager – even those who looked well over their forties! Even for Harry and Hermione, who had grown up in the Muggle World, it was a completely new experience.

“Even though our shop is magical, Daddy wanted to put it in the Muggle section, so that way they could get the same things as everyone else,” said Luna as she continued to walk, oblivious to her awed companions. “Plus, we run the local newspaper, The Quibbler, so it’s easier to just be in the center of, what Daddy calls, ‘the humbug’.” She giggled again.

“They’re looking at us like we’re from another planet,” said Ron suddenly, glaring pointedly at one little girl who studied him with unblinking eyes. Luna shot him a glance over her shoulder.

“It’s because of your cloaks,” she explained nonchalantly. “No one wears them here. It makes you look…suspicious. You could take them off it bothers you that much, though.” Ron turned his scowl onto her.

“No thanks,” he growled.

“Suit yourself. Oh, here we are! Daddy will be so pleased I brought someone home besides Zacharia. He’s grown so tired off him lately…” They had come across the building so fast that none of them had had time to glance at its name. Luna flew to its crimson door, where the common ‘Yes, We’re Open’ sign was hanging for curious eyes of passerby. Excitedly, she ushered them in, beaming proudly.

The first thing that assaulted their senses was the darkness of the building. The instant shift from bright to nearly pitch-black left them momentarily blind. Harry unconsciously stepped back against Hermione, tense, and the witch latched her small hand on his arm reassuringly. Ron was the first to adjust, noticing that the room was not as dark as they were making it out to be – there were several different colored lights hanging down from the ceiling that were not automatically apparent to someone who wasn’t aware of their existence.

And then it was the smell. Having, having been in such a shop before, knew instantly what it was.

“We’re in… a tattoo parlor,” he whispered, sounding shocked. Luna turned toward him with a grin.

“We double as a hair salon, too. Mum always had a love for things of the like. Go on, sit down at the bar. It’s reserved mainly for family and friends, but since you’re not customers, it’ll be alright.” She waved them toward a long, dark oak bar, and then took off toward the back. “Mum!”

“She’s mental,” muttered Ron as Harry led the way toward the cushioned stools. He sighed as he settled onto one, glancing at the menu lying in front of him. “Either of you got any coins on you?”

“I do,” mumbled Harry in response, sending several down his way and handing the same amount to Hermione. “I figured you would forget yours.”

“I didn’t forget,” grouched the redhead in response, scowling. “I was being rushed by two very annoying – what the bloody hell is that?” Two other sets of eyes flew in the direction their friend was pointing, both gasping as they did so. In a cage on the opposite side of Ron, staring at them with large, wide brown eyes, was a small beast of the likes of which they had never even heard about. It was covered brick-red scales, with two elephant-like tusks extending from either side of its mouth and a long, thick tail curling around it. The dinosaurish creature gave a small whimper as it stared at them.

“I’ve never seen anything like that before,” said Hermione with interest, peering closer. “I wonder if it’s a cross-breed, like what Hagrid does with his animals.”

“It’s a Crumpled-Horned Snorkack.”

All three looked up at the sound of Luna’s voice, seeing that she had returned with a taller replica of herself, who was quite obviously her mother. “We caught him on our last trip to Sweden. Daddy said he’ll have to stay in his cage for a little while longer, so he won’t run off.”

“Luna,” said the woman patiently, smiling at her daughter. “Why don’t you get your guests something to drink?” Luna’s blue eyes widened.

“Oh, oh, of course! Pumpkin juice alright?” As Luna set about getting the drinks, her mother moved forward, extending her hand.

“Hello,” she said kindly. “I’m Mera Lovegood, Luna’s mother.” They each shook her hand, not offering their names in turn, a fact that did not slip by the woman in the slightest. “Luna told me that you three are staying in Prince Manor?”

“It’s nothing,” said Hermione quickly, casting nervous glances toward the boys. “A friend of our just helped us move in there temporarily.” Mera gave her a stern look, and suddenly Hermione felt weird, as though she couldn’t lie. Her mouth opened again, and she was horrified at the words that spilled out. “You see, circumstances surrounding our friend.” She nodded toward Harry, who looked down. “Caused us to run away.”

“I see,” said Mera as Luna handed them their pumpkin juice. “Well, children, the first thing a runaway must know is Occlumency, so that one may not read your mind.” Ron and Hermione instantly switched into defensive mode, whilst Harry was horrified. Did she know? “You have no need to worry. Though Princelon is only forty miles from Hogsmeade, only those who are meant to find it can locate it. You’re perfectly safe here. And, as I was telling Luna, just because you’re living in Prince Manor doesn’t mean you’re his heir. We’ve had tenants in there before, but the house never responds to them. They always leave after a week or so, hunger driving them out. I suppose you’re here for food, as well?” Sharing a quick glance, they nodded. Mera studied them for a moment with pursed lips, but before she could say a word, the door to the shop opened, an elderly man in a withered brown robe dragging a goth-clad young man in by the ear.

“Mr. Perry!” Exclaimed Mera, a twinkle in her eye. “How may I help you?” The old man simply scowled at her.

“Fabian.” He gave the black-haired boy’s ear a shake pointedly. “Said he wanted a tattoo. I tried to talk him out of it, saying it was ‘very painful’ and ‘time consuming’. However, he appeared to already know that, as he has one on his shoulder, which he claimed he got from you.” The man continued to glare at Mrs. Lovegood, but she simply smirked in response.

“Is that so? Well, I’m afraid I can’t remember all of my customers, so we’ll just have to go by his word. Besides, Fabian is nineteen, well capable of making his own decisions.” Her smile grew as the elderly wizard fell silent, having no argument to offer in return. “I’ll just take Fabian in back and get started. You might want to take a seat, Mr. Perry. This could take a while.”

And with that, she moved to the back room with the younger boy in tow, leaving Mr. Perry to content himself with sitting and staring at the ceiling.

“He doesn’t look too happy,” Harry noted quietly. Hermione and Ron snorted simultaneously, and Luna stared at them, a wide smile on her pale face.

“Hey, have you heard about Fudge’s army of heliopaths?”

.T.

Charlie Weasley could remember, quite well, when he was a child. Even though he and Bill were the only children of their parents, money was still something the Weasley clan found themselves lacking. Love, however, had always been in abundance. Neither his mother nor his father pulled the ‘favoring the firstborn’ card, and his older brother, breaking the stereotype, had always been kind to him. Even when the family had extended by five children, two of whom were time-consuming, rambunctious twins, family loyalty had never wavered amongst the group of nine. Charlie had felt he could always fall back on them, always count on them, no matter the situation.

However, as the twenty-six-year-old wizard flew through the halls of Snape Manor, tears streaming uncontrolled down his tanned, youthful face, Charlie was forced to the painful realization that his thoughts could not be any further from the truth.

When Ginny had confronted him after Sirius and Remus’ departure, the second son of Arthur Weasley had felt his life shatter into a million pieces. The words that had left her mouth as she spoke of him and Severus, of seeing them kissing the night Ron disappeared, were coated in acid venom. His beloved little sister, whom he adored more than anything, had turned into the epitome of cruel right before his very eyes as she threatened to tell their parents. Charlie had pleaded with her not too, had begged her, and had gone to bed that night with a fearful heart.

“Severus!” He cried out as his breath began to die down. He was growing tired, his lover nowhere in sight. “Severus!”

“Charlie?” The warm, puzzled voice of his former Potions Professor broke into his anguish, and Charlie could practically feel himself melt with relief. He had been in his lab. “Charlie, what’s wrong?”

“Sev…” He whimpered, stumbling forward, thoroughly exhausted. Strong arms caught him around the middle, pulling him to a strong chest. Severus asked no questions of him, merely rubbed his back with soothing circles, running nimble fingers through his red locks, doing everything short of forcing a Calming Drought down his throat to settle him.

“I told her, Severus,” Charlie finally whispered, voice still laced with thick emotion. “I told her to tell them. I told her that they wouldn’t care; that I didn’t care!” Severus simply continued to hold him, at a loss of what he was talking about as Charlie continued to sob. “Why did I do that? I do care, damn it, I do!” The potions master heart broke at the pain coursing through his lover’s body.

“Charlie,” he beckoned softly. “What are you talking about?” Blood-shot brown eyes lifted to stare at him, tears still swimming at the edge, threatening to spill over without the slightest hesitation.

“Ginny,” he chocked. “Ginny. She saw us kissing, Sev.” Charlie buried his face back into the taller wizard’s shoulder, once again sobbing his pain. “She threatened to tell if I didn’t break it off. And I told…I told her to do it.”

Severus clutched the younger man tighter still as Charlie finally lost himself in his grief. He knew how important family was to Charlie, and how much he had wanted to be the one to tell them of his sexual preferences. Ginny’s betrayal was also a huge blow to the young man’s heart. When he got his hands around the neck of that stupid whore…

Carefully, he began to lead the now semi-conscious redhead to his bedroom, mindful of his state. He was halfway there when he felt the familiar tingle on his forearm. However, for the first time he could remember, Severus ignored Lord Voldemort’s call as he helped Charlie through the doorway.

He had far more important things to do.

.T.

Azkaban Wizarding Prison was dark and gloomy as Ilin floated in, a state that brought the young Dementor much pleasure. With Lord Emer’s actions, as well the arrival of the Chosen One, it would stay like this for a very, very long time.

And now, with his information on the young Princeling, the goal of complete darkness would be that much easier to obtain.

He glided into the large hall that few knew Azkaban possessed, yellow eyes lighting up at the sight of the Dementor Lord. He held within his grasp Rabastan Lestrange, an accused Death Eater who had been giving them much trouble recently, and the Lord looked hungry. Ilin watched with equal hunger as Lord Emer lowered his head, and placed his lips firmly upon those of the prisoner, and felt dizzy at the moans of pleasure the Lord was emitting as he sucked up the soul. The Dementor Kiss was always a seductive activity, and to walk in on it…

The body of Rabastan Lestrange collapsed to the floor with a dull thud, and Ilin was aware that the golden gaze of his lord was upon him.

“You have news for me, young one?” Growled Lord Emer curiously. Taking the invite, Ilin glided forward, eyes widening when he caught sight of the Chosen One sleeping peacefully upon a stone slab behind the Dementor Lord.

“Lord Azkaban,” he said respectfully, bowing slightly and taking his eyes off of the human. “I have searched, as you requested, and you were correct. She sent the heir to Princelon.” Lord Emer’s eyes lit up like the sun, the hunger returning intensely. He swept around, floating toward the still figure on the slab. Slowly, he reached out his claw-like hand, running one long-nailed finger down the Chosen One’s face.

“Excellent.”

.T.

Ron groaned, lying his head down on the table as night began to fall. Luna’s voice cut into his head, making it feel as though someone were taking a sludge hammer to it relentlessly. He had hoped the headache would have gone away with the fear of discovery lessened…

However, being here only seemed to be making it worse.

“Ron?” Harry’s voice was concerned as he reached over Hermione to lay a light, questioning hand on his shoulder. Ron grunted in response. “What is it? Your headache back?” Hermione and Luna froze in their two-hour debate over Fudge’s supposed army to look at him, the formers hand joining Harry’s.

“’M good,” he mumbled. “I’m just tired, and you three are loud.” Hermione glanced around worriedly.

“Is it late? Perhaps we should go back…” Luna looked panicked.

“You can’t go back by yourselves!” She cried, and Ron gave another groan, to which she instantly lowered her voice. “Strange creatures wonder around here at night. It’s not safe. Wait until my mum is done, and we’ll walk you back.” Hermione still looked skeptical, and Ron, sensing it as well as Harry’s worry, lifted his head and slid off the bar stool.

“I can wait,” he assured his friends. “I’ll just… go sit over there where it’s darker… and quieter. Just don’t forget me when you leave.” They still looked skeptical.

“Are you sure?” Inquired Harry softly. Ron smirked at him tiredly.

“Yes, I’m sure.” He shook his head as he moved off toward the other side of the room, designated for customers, and relaxed when he heard the argument slowly start up again. Without a second thought, he took a seat beside Mr. Perry, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back against the wall. His headache instantly began to die down.

His relief, however, was short lived.

“I know who you are.” Ron’s eyes shot open, and his head whipped around. His headache returned full-force, but he ignored it in favor of glaring at the elderly wizard beside him.

“What?” He asked, an edge to his voice. The man simply stared at him, unfazed, before moving his gaze back toward the bar, and (Ron’s stomach dropped and his blood ran cold), on Harry.

“That one has experienced much pain,” said Mr. Perry softly. Ron froze. How could he know that? “I can see it. You can, too, or you could if you would let yourself. Yes,” he continued to gaze hard at his friend. “Much pain I sense from him, and I see much, much more in his future.”

“You lie,” declared Ron immediately, though instincts told him otherwise. Mr. Perry turned back to him, eyebrow arched.

“Do I? Like I said, you could see it, if you tried. You know you can. You have that gift.” Ron blinked at him, slowly bringing his hand to his head. The headaches…

“Show me,” he demanded with a growl. The thought of anything more happening to Harry… Ron cringed as the sound of his best friend’s soft laughter at something Hermione said floated throughout the room. Mr. Perry studied him for a moment, before leaning his head back and closing his eyes, identical to the fashion Ron had done earlier.

“You are not ready,” he said simply as the sound of footsteps sounded from down the hallway. Ron was about to retort when Mrs. Lovegood walked in, a wincing Fabian at her heels.

“All ready, Mr. Perry,” said Luna’s mother cheerfully. Mr. Perry cracked an eye open, sighed at the sight of his young companion, and rose.

“Come back here in three days,” he muttered between his teeth, voice so low that Ron barely caught it. “Three days, and I’ll show you how it’s done.”

.T.

“I am so glad you have considered my offer.”

Remus glanced at the elder werewolf beside him, and try as he might, could not force a warning in his gaze.

Auxiliary was not like other werewolves – he was much older, much more experienced in matters such as these., and was therefore unaffected by such looks. It had also been Auxilary who had finished turning Remus after the first werewolf had left him for dead. For that, the former Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor saw the older man as more of a father, and felt as though he owed him a life debt.

However, that did not mean that Remus would consult with him behind his mate’s back.

“Still considering,” he growled pointedly. “Circumstances are leading Sirius and I to believe we have no other alternative.”

“There are always other alternatives, pup,” said Auxilary lightly, watching as Sirius banished his mess from yesterday with a wave of his wand. “But, should you decide to join me, we must know of what it is you can offer our cause.” Remus nodded, eyes too on his mate, a small, loving smile on his face as he replied.

“Well, I can offer spying status, as can Sirius, with his animagus form. And I’m rather gifted with charms and defensive spells, no matter what that mutt says.” He jerked his chin toward Sirius pointedly as the taller wizard made his way toward the kitchen. The animagus was ignoring the other werewolf, and they both knew it. “Basically, we can do anything you need.”

“We’ll take you,” assured Auxilary quickly, scanning Remus’ face beneath his gray hair. “However, I think I may have difficulty finding groundwork for your mate. I suppose I could bump someone up to spying…”

“Groundwork?” Cut off Remus, shocked. His partner would not like that one bit. “Why would Sirius have to do groundwork?” Auxiliary smiled.

“You mean, you don’t know?” He chuckled at Remus’ confused face.

“Pup, your mate is pregnant.”

TBC

Merf! –beams- I hinted about that one!

-sobs- I’ve been sitting in this chair all FREAKING day to get this chapter out. –sighs- I feel better. Anyway, this chapter is iffy with me. Please drop me a line and let me know what y’all think. –puppy eyes- Please?

Next Chapter: Very powerful, emotional, and gory. I promise you will cry at one point or another. The effects of Lord Emer’s attack are finally felt by Ron. Charlie confronts his parents, and Lady Hedwig goes to Lord Voldemort (what fun!). The Dementors’ attack is made public, and Ron and Hermione are facing charges from Dumbledore. VERNON DIES Be forewarned, this will be gorier than Fudge’s death in Lupus Parvulus. Weak stomached-people should definitely skip this part. Also, there will be another, important death…BIG CHAPTER.

Points to whomever can guess who my ‘Chosen One’ is!

Alright, I should get off of here. I have to get up in like…four hours…yeah, I’m gone.

Don’t forget to review!

-Brit

(PS) Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire opening night? Anyone else besides me going? Eh?


	7. Seer's Sight

  
Author's notes: [HPLV slash] AU Fifth year. Dark Trio. Dumbledore should have realized he could not keep the Golden Trio under his thumb forever. There are secrets about Harry Potter that not even he knows, and some are much more bigger than others.  


* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, or any other character found within J.K. Rowling’s novels (I do own Emer, though, so ask before you throw him into your own plot!). I do not intend this fanfiction to be any form of slander toward the novels or Lady Rowling herself, and lastly, I do not make any profit from this story.

To Reviewers: Ah, if law permitted it, I would marry every last one of you. Alas, however, it does not, so you will just have to settle for a computer-hug –hugs-. (Snort) Thank you all so much for your reviews and patience with my slow updating –hugs again-

Notes: The only pace concerned with this story that needs to speed up is my updating pace. The story pace is fine. Stop worrying about it. This story is hard enough to work on without having you lot complain that it isn’t going fast enough! Seriously, y’all make me mad when you go on about how slow it is. There is plenty of time for Harry and Voldemort, plenty of time for everyone to get to Hogwarts, plenty of time for everything.

RELAX.

Notes 2: I changed my mind on how Vernon was going to die. I couldn’t stomach anything too extreme. I’m sorry. But he does die, so no worries. Justice has been served.

Warnings: Slash, memories of child abuse, character deaths, language, violence, etc, etc. You know me. 

Chapter Six

All was quiet within the stone walls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a luxury the inhabitants of the castle had not been able to relish earlier that day. Portraits were either snoozing within their gold-encrusted frames or standing at attention, eyes alert for any trouble, yet otherwise silent. Even the house-elves, who could usually be counted upon for entertainment during the holidays with their antics, scurried about without making a sound, large eyes darting around suspiciously, jumping and disappearing at even the slightest clatter.

As he walked down the hallway of the Great Hall with noiseless feet, Albus Dumbledore’s ancient blue eyes were glazed with thought, and his forehead crinkled with worry. Not one hour ago, the famed elderly wizard had stood before a Muggle woman he had never had the pleasure of meeting, and a witch he was quite sure he would now go out of his way to avoid. He had had no doubt that Mrs. Granger and Mrs. Weasley would be upset, as their children were missing during the most dangerous of times, but the threats and promises he had received left the defeater of Grindelwald shaken.

Of course, Albus had not informed the two women of his most recent discovery, and after the events of that morning, had no desire to. They were over-protective and hysterical enough as it was, that to tell them exactly what it was he was planning to do would be suicidal at best.

“Good day, Dumbledore.” Albus was startled from his thoughts by the sound of a forced-into-cheerfulness voice, his eyes hardening slightly at the sight of the small, stubby man before him. He did not like the Minister of Magic; never had. He knew Cornelius was incredibly paranoid that he would try and take the office, but the way the man went about showing it! Bah! He was quite sure the people of the Wizarding Community could have selected a better Minister than Cornelius Fudge!

Albus stared at the younger man, offering no return greeting, or any sign at all that he had heard him besides stopping. Though it was hardly the time to play mind games with the Minister, Albus could honestly not stop himself from annoying him. The man had a patience level worse than that of Severus Snape, with a wonderful tantrum style to boot. He was forced to hold back a smile as the Minister began to twitch, though he could not prevent the quirk of the corner of his mouth as Cornelius shifted his weight upon another foot, frown on his round face as he let out an impatient sigh.

“I don’t have all day, Albus!” He snapped, frustrated. “There are other matters that require my attention!” Albus finally allowed his smile to break across his face, and his eyes twinkled madly as he turned around.

“Perhaps we should discuss this in my office?” Cornelius seemed to bristle, every hair on his face to convulse in annoyance, as he knew a simple Floo into the Headmaster’s office would have been more convenient, and that the elder wizard was obviously trying to annoy him. With a small huff worthy of rivalry to those of Vernon Dursley, the Minister of Magic gave a reluctant nod.

The walk to the Head Office was a quiet, very, very long trip. Though he looked to be doing this solely out of mischief, Albus was taking this time to mentally go over how he was to present his idea toward Fudge, and make it look legitimate. Passing off Hermione Grange, a Muggle-born student who was at the top of all of her classes, and Ronald Weasley, a pure-blooded wizard who was the son of a Ministry official, as possible dark magic followers, and suspects in Harry Potter’s disappearance, would not be an easy thing to do. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t exactly sure if it was the right thing to do.

But then an image of Harry Potter flashed through his mind. The Boy Who Lived; the Chosen One. And he stepped up to the statue with renewed confidence.

“Canary Creams.”

.T.

He lay there, arm wrapped tightly around the waist of his lover, brown eyes filled with contentment as they gazed up at the bed’s dark green canopy. It was rare times when he was able to hold the other wizard, for Severus contained within him such pride and dignity that would not allow him to appear so vulnerable. However, Severus had worn himself out caring for him last night, and as such, was unable to protest his current position.

The thought brought a silly smile to Charlie’s tanned face.

He stretched lazily, wincing as his bones cracked and popped accordingly, releasing a grunt of satisfaction as the tension slowly left his body. Severus’ arm, which had been draped protectively over his shoulder, shifted to allow the movement, and Charlie’s smile grew as the taller wizard gave a groan of disapproval.

“Sev,” he cooed, removing his arm from his lover’s waist to reach out and stroke the man’s smooth skin. Severus unconsciously leaned into the touch. “It’s time to wake up, Sev,” he continued. When the Potions Master gave no reaction, Charlie moved his lips close to his ear, giving the sensitive skin a little nip before whispering. “You’re oversleeping, love.”

“How do you know that that wasn’t the point?” Charlie grinned and backed away as Severus’ obsidian eyes cracked open, darting to his lover’s form, a smirk of his own forming. “I do enjoy to sleep in from time to time, I will have you know.”

“Yes,” Charlie agreed, sitting up, knowing full well that Severus’ gaze was on his bare chest. “But you promised… him … that you would be there this morning.” The redhead could not keep the contempt from his voice, and flinched as Severus sighed.

“You certainly know how to spoil the mood,” he growled in annoyance. The topic of Lord Voldemort was still strained between the two of them, and they did their best never to bring it up. However, as of late, the Dark Lord’s role in Severus’ life was becoming much more apparent, and Charlie’s resentment of him only grew.

At the moment, though, he did regret introducing him to the conversation.

“Sorry,” mumbled Charlie, looking down. Severus did not respond as he stood up, sheets tightly around his waist, and stalked into the bathroom. Charlie’s heart continued to sink. After all that the older man had done for him the other night, and this was how he repaid him. He knew of Severus’ unwavering loyalty to Voldemort; he knew how Severus felt about the man! It was the only father-figure he had, for Merlin’s sake! And he had to go and talk about him in such a fashion…

When Severus returned, clothed in his usual black-robe attire, Charlie rose up into a sitting position, offering his lover a small, sad half smile, spirits lifting slightly as the gesture was returned.

“I really am sorry,” he repeated in a whisper. Severus shook his head at the apology, not at all interested in hearing it, as he moved toward his window to look down upon the vast grounds of Snape Manor.

“I didn’t mean to get short with you,” he said after a moment. It was as close to an apology as he would get, and he knew it. Understanding that there was nothing harsh between them now, Charlie glanced down at the fine comforter that covered him, fidgeting with its fabric nervously.

“What is it, Verus Amor?” Inquired Severus, speaking the title he had bestowed upon Charlie that was rarely ever used. The red-haired man looked up, and the other wizard turned around, eyebrow quirked questioningly.

“I… I think I should go home today,” he stated tentatively, continuing before Severus could object. “It’s possible that Ginny has not yet told them, as I haven’t received a Howler from Mum.” He gave a nervous chuckle, and then fell silent, looking up to see Severus’ thoughtful frown.

“I know how much it means to you to be the one to tell your parents, Charlie,” he slowly said after a moment. “However, I think you should wait to return until this evening, when I can accompany you.” Charlie opened his mouth to protest, but Severus cut him off with a scowl. “You will not face this alone.”

The red-haired wizard gave a sigh of defeat, shoulders slumping slightly, though his heart warmed at the proclamation. A light hiss from Severus brought his attention back to his lover, who was now directing his scowl to his arm. “Impatient bastard.”

“You have been gone for three days,” offered Charlie, finally managing to keep the hatred from his tone. Severus rolled his eyes, but nodded, knowing it to be the truth. As he brought out his wand to Apparate, he sent his lover a devilish smile.

“Whilst I am away, why don’t you finish that letter to your brother that you stashed away under Aries’ cage?” His smile widened as Charlie cursed under his breath. “You might even include that little trick I showed you, eh? Apparatus!”

As the Potions Professor disappeared with a small ‘poing’, Charlie shook his head with a smile, rising from his seat.

He would have to find better hiding places.

.T.

Large hands worked with a gentle firmness, cradling each phial as a mother would her child, but stirring the ingredients together with the harshness one had when beating in the face of their sworn enemy. There was a precision in his work that he had never shown before, or ever been aware he had. It was as though his hands were those of the infamous Hogwarts Potions Master himself, for they moved with such speed that he was afraid he would make a vital mistake. But the movements were flawless, and his mind flew with pre-acquired knowledge he did not know he contained.

And whilst all of this was going on, the pounding inside Ronald Weasley’s head was growing fiercer by the second.

It had been three days since he, Hermione, and Harry had run into Luna Lovegood, and had been introduced to the intermixed village of Princelon. It had been two days since Ron had met Mr. Perry, and only one day to go until the man would either fulfill his word, or prove it false.

As a sharp pain stabbed into the side of his head, Ron seriously hoped it would be the former.

“Finished,” he muttered, a slight bit of pride in his voice as he eyed the small cauldron of the potion he had properly brewed. He sincerely hoped that Hermione would not notice her missing potion ingredients… or her cauldron… or her phials… pretty much hoped that she wouldn’t look in her trunk at all. For the last thing Ron wanted to do was inform his friends that his headache was getting worse by the second. They were already concerned that it was still present, but getting more painful? They would have him in St. Mungo’s in a nanosecond, exposure be damned.

And Ron, already not wanting to handle their worry, would not allow that to happen. Without the slightest bit of hesitation, he dunked one of the phials in, pulled it out, threw his head back, and gulped.

And gagged.

It seemed, that no matter how well one brewed their potion, it would always taste as foul as the ones Snape produced for the Hogwarts Hospital Wing.

“Ron!” the redhead jumped slightly at the sound of Hermione’s call. “Luna’s here! Are you ready to leave?”

He grimaced and replied. “Just a minute!” Without a second thought, he threw the empty phial and cauldron into his own trunk, and picked up Hermione’s books to put them into hers.

In the three days since he and his friends had discovered Princelon, Luna Lovegood seemed to make it her highest priority to visit with them at least five times a day, which he knew she went out of her way to do, as “Prince Manor” was not exactly next door to her shop. In fact, though she barely knew them, Luna had taken it upon herself to invite them on a shopping trip, insisting that if their goal was to go unnoticed, their “plain clothes” and “innocent appearance” would have to go. Ron did not know exactly what it was this shopping trip would entail, but did know, if it were anything like those his mother used to drag him on, he would be hightailing it back to the manor, dragging Harry and Hermione with him.

Ron smiled slightly as the latch on Hermione’s trunk gave a satisfying snap!, signaling it to be safely closed.

“Ron!” The redhead whipped around with a sigh.

“I’m coming!” He called back, turning toward the door of their shared bedroom. However, before he could take one step, there was a loud crack! from behind him. He whirled around quickly, wand drawn, only to see an envelope floating peacefully down to floor, followed closely by two large black feathers. Curious blue irises darted around the room, but saw nothing that had not been there before. The letter had long-since landed softly upon his bed, and it sat there innocently, silently beckoning him to pick it up. Showing his Gryffindor rashness, he did so, not noticing the small silver Sickle that fell out and onto the floor, rolling beneath his coverlet. His eyes skimmed the letter over, widening as they did so.

Ron,

Looks like you have gone and gotten yourself into trouble without Harry and Hermione’s help this time, eh? Running away from home, and doing magic at Harry’s house? Have you gone completely mad? Mum’s been having kittens since she realized you were missing, and that little stunt you pulled at the Dursleys has the entire Order on your trail. I sure hope you know what the bloody hell you’re doing, because getting caught this time will result in a punishment worse than detention with Filch!

I’m not trying to lecture you, Ron, I’m just worried about you. Something big is going on, something… terrible. There’s a rumor that there was a Dementor attack in a Wizarding village a few days ago; people are whispering about it at the Ministry. And, somehow, I just know you three are going to get involved. It has nothing to do with the history of your past four years at Hogwarts, I’m sure…

I best be tying this up. I have enclosed within this letter a little trick my friend taught me. Should you ever find yourself in trouble, just hold it tightly and say me name. I should be able to Apparate to wherever it is you are. But use it only in an emergency – they can be traceable! 

Be safe Ron, and keep your nose clean. Give my regards to Hermione and Harry.

Your concerned brother, 

Charlie Weasley

Ron stared at the letter. A Dementor attack? He shuddered at the memory of the one he and his friends had experienced, and what had nearly resulted. He hoped no one had been Kissed… he would have to get The Daily Prophet when they went out today… or The Quibbler, if Princelon was a town loyal to their own paper. And what was Charlie talking about, a trick? He tipped the parchment over, as though expecting something to fall from it, but nothing came.

“Must have forgotten to put it in there. Just like him…”

“Ron! Do I need to come up there and dress you?” Hermione’s call was followed by laughter from the annoying blonde they had picked up. Panicking, Ron quickly shoved the letter into the back pocket of his black jeans, forcing a playful emotion into his voice as he replied.

“Shut up, you slag. I’m coming, I’m coming.”

As the redhead raced down the stairs, the silver sickle beneath his bed gave a little twinkle; similar to the ones given off by Albus Dumbledore’s eyes, as though it knew something the redhead did not.

.T.

“A Blood-Bond?” Both Lord Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy growled as the three words were repeated for the eightieth time. “A… Blood-Bond?”

“Yes, Severus,” snapped the blonde wizard, finally growing annoyed at his friend’s disbelief. “A Blood-Bond!”

When the infamous Potions Master had arrived at Riddle Manor an hour earlier, it had been to a very long, and extremely complicated summary that covered the course of the three days that he had missed. Besides being informed of the bond, he had been told of the events surrounding Mr. Zabini and his pledged loyalty to the one and only Harry Potter (which had to be delved into further, as Severus had not been made aware of the situation concerning his student and Aberforth Dumbledore). Whilst the Dark Lord and his Second Hand appeared to be more concerned with a boy they believed to be their enemy suddenly becoming a lord, Severus had been unable to drag himself away from the bond the two powerful wizards now shared.

“How… How was this able to occur?” Inquired the flabbergasted wizard. “How could it have been formed?”

“The Resurrection,” informed Voldemort tiredly, having forgotten Severus had not been present for it. “His blood was needed for the potion to work.” Severus cocked his head to the side.

“And you could not have chosen another witch or wizard in his stead?” He questioned dryly. Lucius snorted.

“Not for lack of trying to convince him to do so.” All three were silent for a moment, lost in their own thoughts of concern and frustration.

“You do, of course,” began Severus cautiously. “Realize what this bond could entail for you and Potter, correct?” Lord Voldemort frowned, his currently blue eyes flashing a bright crimson in pent-up anger.

“Do you take me for a fool, Severus?” He hissed dangerously, a bit of his former persona seeping in, causing both Death Eaters to take a step back. “I know that I cannot kill him, or him me, without both of us dying in the process. I know this!” However, if the Dark Lord was hoping that Severus would be taken aback by his sudden harshness, he was to be disappointed. The man’s obsidian eyes narrowed, and there was a look of superiority within their dark depths that Voldemort did not like at all.

“With all do respect, my lord,” stated the Potions Master wryly. “That is a circumstance created with every bond, not just the Blood-Bond.” Lucius’ head shot in his direction. With a sigh, Severus leaned back against the wall, resting his forehead in his hand. “A Blood-bond, though used to revive another from the edge of Death (like you, my lord), binds the two involved.” He lifted his head from his hand at this, once again returning his eyes to Voldemort. “It is identical in everyway, save for the required blood, to the Soul-Bond.” The Dark Lord grew as cold as ice as Lucius gave a small, startled gasp of horror. “It was outlawed not only because one would grow steadily insane when not near their Bonded, but because of the high rate of incestuous relationships siblings were forced to enter because of it.”

“Does…” Began Lucius when Voldemort did not speak. “Does that mean…?”

“Yes,” Severus concluded, not removing his eyes from his lord as he answered the question. “Master-.”

“Leave me,” growled the Dark Lord, not looking up from the spot on his desk he had decided deserved his interest. Lucius and Severus shared a surprised look, neither quite sure if it was a good idea to obey him or not.

Lord Voldemort quickly convinced them.

“Have I been so lax in my punishments that you no longer deem my commands worthy of your obedience?” He roared, flying into a standing position, wand raised and pointed threateningly. His eyes were completely crimson now. “I said get out!”

With low bows, the two wizards complied, both knowing a curse would come out of that wand should they refuse to do so again. Severus eyed his lord once more before pulling the double doors closed, leaving the brooding Dark Lord alone to deal with this new occurrence.

Once certain they were gone, Voldemort let his mask slip, eyes returning to the cool blue that they had been that morning. Slowly, he made his way toward his window, gazing down upon the grounds that had once belonged to his father and grandparents.

Bound to Harry Potter.

His pale hands gripped the windowsill tightly at the thought. Bound to his sworn enemy; bound to the one prophesized to be his downfall! To be forever his, whether he wanted it or not. It was impossible for them to survive this! Potter would never follow his ideals, and Voldemort would never join an allegiance with Albus Dumbledore. They would kill one another!

“Perhaps that is how the prophecy is meant to be fulfilled,” he mused dryly, resting his forehead against the cool glass.

“That all depends on what prophecy it is you speak of,” stated an amused, unfamiliar voice from behind. Voldemort whirled around, wand drawn, the Killing Curse on his lips…

And stopped.

Standing before him was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. With bright amber eyes, and white hair that flowed around her slim figure, she resembled an angle from Muggle myths. She was smiling at him, a knowing kind of smile, and when she spoke, her voice was soft and melodic.

“Hello, Tom.”

.T.

“I am not wearing those.”

Harry and Hermione could not contain their smiles at the look of utter horror upon their friend’s pale, freckled face. Ron’s cerulean blue eyes were practically bulging out bulging out of his head at the sight of the black leather pants the brunette witch held in her hand, cheeks tinged with a light green as he gave them a disgusted look. Fortunately for the amused duo, Ron Weasley was current standing behind the safety of a changing curtain, wearing nothing but his boxers, which prevented him from taking physical retaliation.

But, so help him Merlin, if those cursed pants moved so much as an inch closer, what he had done to Mr. and Mrs. Dursley would pale in comparison to what would befall the smooth material.

“Relax, Ron,” soothed Harry softly, effectively drawing the redhead’s attention to him. He watched as the slight wizard removed the pants from Hermione’s grasp with a smile, which quickly turned into a ‘pity me’ look as he studied them. “She picked them up for me.”

“Oh, hush!” Chided Hermione with a scowl. “They will look great on you. Don’t you think so, Ron?” Now wearing pants of his own (and ones that were much more comfortable), Ron stepped out from behind the curtain, giving his friend a once-over with a critical eye. A sudden mischievous thought entered his mind, which he set into action with his next words.

“You’ll look gorgeous, mate,” he said sincerely, licking his lips in a hungry fashion. Both Harry and Hermione’s eyes widened in shock. However, with one quick wink from him, the raven-haired Seeker caught on, and quickly jumped into the ploy to play.

“You know you’ll be staring at my arse the whole time I’m in them, Weasley,” he stated good-naturedly, offering a seductive wink of his own. Poor Hermione looked torn at their words, as if not sure whether to be horrified or amused.

“And caught up in my thoughts of getting you out of them,” whispered Ron huskily, to which Harry blushed. Finally having enough, their young, intelligent witch threw her hands in the air with a frustrated groan.

“Oh, you two!” She cried, and stalked off to where Luna was looking at cosmetics, leaving the two boys in laughter.

“Brilliant,” Ron proclaimed, wiping a lone tear from the corner of his eye. “I think we bothered her,” he added with a sly grin. Harry managed to send him a puzzled look as their laughter began to die down.

“Of course you did. She left.” Ron stared at him for a second, before breaking out into laughter once more, a joyous noise that Harry had not heard since the end of the Third Task.

‘Don’t think about that!’ He struggled to find something else to focus on.

“We could have this,” he said suddenly, elaborating at Ron’s confused look. “This peace. We could live here, Ron, and have this peace.” The wistful look that suddenly appeared in the infamous emerald eyes cut the older wizard’s laughter off completely, and he was instantly filled with a sad, protective sensation as he studied his friend. Harry had never felt the peace he and the others of the Wizarding and Muggle worlds had been able to bask in after Voldemort’s downfall. He had been forced to live with the Dursleys, where every minute of every day was filled with loneliness and fear.

There had never been peace for Harry Potter.

“Harry! Ron! Come over here!” Two pairs of eyes turned to the bushy-haired Gryffindor, who no longer seemed disturbed by their previous behavior. She was beaming at them, and waving some sort of stick, too thin to be a wand, in her hand. “You’re going to love this!”

.T.

“Who are you?”

Lord Voldemort frowned when the woman before him did not even so much as flinch at his harsh tone. The blood in his veins boiled as she continued to stand in his study, chin held up in what he believed to be a defiant position, eyes gleaming with amusement. She had entered his domain without warning or permission, acts that were usually always followed with a nice Unforgivable. The fact that she had used his given name, however, was enough to grant her the Avada Kadavra.

However, there was something about her that kept him from raising his wand, something in her eyes that kept him from forming the words on his lips. She smiled at him once more.

“Be at ease, Heir of Salazar Slytherin,” she said regally. “I mean you no harm.”

“Who are you?” Demanded Voldemort again, softer this time, and with no bite. The lady in white simply continued to smile as she lifted her hand, and the Dark Lord took a slight step back as a chair formed right beneath it.

Who the bloody hell was this woman?

“History knows me by many names, Tom Riddle,” she spoke suddenly, as though having read his thoughts. “The most common is Hedwig.”

“Hedwig,” sneered the Dark Lord, saying the name as though it were another term for dirt. This, though, did not offend the lady, and she merely cocked an eyebrow at him instead.

“Harry Potter even seemed to think the name suited me,” she added casually.

Lord Voldemort froze at the mention of his Bonded’s name, his expression similar to that of a shocked goat. Lady Hedwig had to bite her lip to keep the smile from forming on her face as her words sunk in.

“You know Harry Potter?” He inquired softly, superiority temporarily forgotten.

“And so shall you, one day.” The promise hung in the air as Hedwig stood, silently and confidently making her way toward him. He watched her warily, suddenly feeling fearful of the majestic woman. The smile never left Hedwig’s face as she reached out a hand to cup the Dark Lord’s chin, though her eyes saddened as he flinched at the contact.

“What a horrible life he put you through,” she murmured, words laced with grief. Lord Voldemort could not break his gaze with her, whether willingly or not, though his expression managed to change into one of confusion at her words. Even though the question would not roll off of his tongue, Lady Hedwig seemed to understand what he wanted to ask, for she continued on. “Albus Dumbledore has many crimes for which he is to answer for, Tom, and I promise you that he shall. What he did to you and Harry is beyond retribution.”

“What did he do to Potter?” Slurred the Dark Lord, finally managing to find his voice. However, she did not respond as she pulled away, turning instead to the window, and thus effectively breaking whatever spell Voldemort had found himself under. Lady Hedwig sighed as her amber eyes darted around the scenery, taking in how ironically beautiful the grounds of Riddle Manor were. With an owner such as it had, one would expect everything to be dead, or simply filled with black-rose bushes and poisonous, prickly plants.

“Things are beginning to change, Tom,” she said softly, not looking back toward him. “Some much more obvious than others. The end of Lord Voldemort draws near.” She whirled around suddenly, not at all surprised to see Voldemort’s shocked and furious look. “When this day comes, never shall you be called ‘Lord Voldemort’ by a follower. Never will you be referred to as ‘The Insane Half-Blood Who Murders For The Hell Of It’.”

“What the hell are you on about?” Demanded Voldemort, infuriation and confusion never a good mix for him. The White Lady sent him a glare a parent usually gives to an impatient, spoiled child, but obliged him anyway.

“You will always be ‘The Dark Lord’,” she assured patiently, though her tone was slightly edgy. “But you will be known to those of the Wizarding World as Lord Riddle, Bonded of the Half-Blood Prince.”

“Who?”

“The Half-Blood… damn.” The Dark Lord watched in fascination as Lady Hedwig faded slightly, taking in her worried expression. He was impressed at how quickly she gathered herself together; standing up straight as though nothing had happened, face emotionless.

“The time for a new lord is at hand, Tom Riddle,” she said earnestly, as if she was begging him to listen to her. “Your role in this era will be more important and grand than you can ever imagine, but sacrifices must be made to achieve it.” She moved right into his face once more, clasping it in both hands, thus obtaining his undivided attention. “Harry Potter is more important than you will ever know. He has power beyond anyone’s comprehension, but he lacks the drive to use it. He will need protection, Tom. You must see that Harry Potter is always protected.” Lady Hedwig winced once more as her form faded again. “I must return now. Remember, Tom.” Their eyes met one last time. “Harry Potter is beyond important. You must keep him safe.”

The feel of the hands on his face began to slowly disappear, until it was no more. Lord Voldemort watched in stunned silence as the Lady faded away completely right before his eyes, leaving no trace of her in the room.

From out of the corner of his eye, he saw a solitary white and black feather slowly float down to the floor.

And Lord Voldemort began to think, unaware of the traitorous eyes that watched on, and oblivious as their owner silently left.

.T.

Ilin shifted anxiously from the position in which he floated, yellow eyes locked intently on the grand figure of Lord Emer before him, their nervous glint within them nearly invisible. The Dementor Lord did not face him, instead standing over the unconscious form of the Chosen One. The Passage of Ryet Magic was a very grueling and time-consuming task, and Ilin knew to speak would be a fatal distraction. However, this information was critical, and could very well prove to be the end of their plans before they even started. The young Dementor shifted anxiously once again, before gathering the courage to open his mouth and speak.

“My Lord,” he hissed, wincing at the instant, dismayed chatter that broke out at his words. He saw Lord Emer sway slightly as he concentration was beginning to break, and could feel his irritation as he attempted to ignore him. Ilin tried again. “This is vital, My Lord!” The last sentence was shouted in desperation, and Lord Emer could no longer ignore him. His concentration was broken, and the magic he had been pumping into the frail, human body of the Chosen One dissipated immediately. With a murderous roar, he whirled around, golden eyes ablaze with fury. Ilin suddenly found himself flying through the air, unable to breathe, and slamming into the far wall.

“You fool!” Bellowed Lord Emer in a hiss. “Have you any idea what you have done?” He reached out his claw-like hand, tightening his fist, cutting off Ilin’s oxygen supply even more.

“P – Please, My Lord,” he beseeched in a scratchy voice, gasping for air. “I – I bring… important news!” For a moment, he was certain his lord would kill him – he surely had enough reason to do so. But then a new voice broke out, one unlike any a Dementor could have, filled with a regal, sinister air that caught each and every creature by surprise.

“Release him.”

The Dementor Lord was so taken aback at being ordered to do something, that he actually obeyed. Ilin crumbled to the floor, skeletal hands flying to his neck to massage the sore muscles, looking up to see whom he savior had been.

His eyes widened in shock as they landed on the form of the very much awake Chosen One.

Cool brown eyes were staring indifferently at Lord Emer, head cocked to the side in innocent confusion, yet it was obvious he knew what was going on. He was sitting up on the stone table, feet dangling over the edge in the mannerisms of a child, yet looking completely imperial. Ilin struggled to rise, and in doing so, had the emotionless eyes cast on him.

“You,” spoke the Chosen One loudly, causing Ilin to freeze. He looked uncertainly toward the boy they had brought to their citadel, positive one wrong move would result in him ending up as a pile of dust. “What information do you bring that was urgent enough to break my magic feed?”

For a moment, Ilin could think of nothing to say – could not remember why he had interrupted anything to begin with. Impatient, the Chosen One’s face contorted in a furious rage, and the room crackled with dark energy.

“Tell me!” He roared, stepping onto the ground and making his way toward the frightened Dementor, Lord Emer simply looking on. Ilin instantly shrank back, raising his hands in the air and shouting his explanation.

“Lady Hedwig!” He cried, causing the Chosen One to stop short. “It was the Lady Hedwig, Master! She went and spoke with the Dark Lord! I believe she is attempting to sway him to their side!”

“What?” Demanded Lord Emer harshly, finally drawn into the conversation. “Impossible! Lord Voldemort is a dark wizard, and an enemy of the Half-Blood Prince! He would never join them!”

“Then does he lie?” Inquired the Chosen One softly, eyeing Ilin with a puzzled, yet critical expression. The Dementor’s eyes widened, and he hastened to continue.

“I do not lie, Master, no!” He assured frantically, distressed. “Even now, Voldemort considers joining the Half-Blood Prince. There is talk of… of a Blood-Bond between the two!” More whispers broke out at this, but they were silenced by a glare from Lord Emer. The Chosen One looked thoughtful at Ilin’s words, titling his head in what would become a trademark fashion.

“I had forgotten,” he said softly, as if to himself. Snapping out of his personal thoughts, he turned and looked at Ilin, expression emotionless once more. “I suppose this is the “important news” you interrupted us for?” Ilin nodded, and the Chosen One sighed. “Then I’m afraid that isn’t good enough.” And before Ilin could think on it, the wizard waved his hand, and the world went eternally black for the young Dementor.

As the rest of the creatures hurried over to the body, greedily going after the souls that were escaping the corpse, the Chosen One swayed, fatigue overtaking him. A pair of thin but strong arms wrapped around him, shifting his so that he was cradled against a cold body. Brown eyes locked with gold, and Lord Emer allowed himself a hissed chuckle.

“You overtaxed yourself. We should finish the feed.” The Chosen One was silent for a moment.

“Yes,” he said finally, watching as the Dementors began devouring Ilin’s body. “But not today. I need to rest.”

.T.

Ron sighed as he rested his aching head against the cool glass window of the restaurant, wincing as the soft contact caused another fierce pound. The potion had long since worn off, obviously not in the mood to cooperate with him today.

Go figure.

From beside him, he could feel Harry shake slightly as he laughed with Hermione, something that took a bit of Ron’s pain away. He smiled tiredly as he looked toward his friends, thrilled that they were so happy. He took a moment to observe how different they looked now. Hermione was dressed in a tan shirt that said “I’ll Be Your Mudblood”, and black Muggle jeans that flared at the bottom, along with black sweatbands reading ‘I Get High On Life’ on each wrist. Her hair had been straightened, and was currently pulled back into a smooth pony-bun, two lengthy dyed-black strands let loose to hang free. She looked positively breathtaking, and Ron was sure he would have developed a hard-on had he been attracted to girls.

Harry was the true stunner, though. Hermione had been able to coerce Harry into adorning the black leather pants (much to his chagrin), and Ron had found him a form-fitting black t-shirt that read “You Can’t Kill Me, I’m Fucking Immortal”, that suited the younger wizard to no end. He was currently massaging his right ear, which he had gotten pierced along with Hermione and himself. And, whenever his hair hit the light, the green sparkles that he had had magically dusted permanently onto his hair glittered like mad. Compared to Harry, Ron considered his Gryffindor dusted hair, snug blue jeans, and plain, tight black shirt, quite simple.

Hermione had smacked him when he told her that.

“They’ll bring our order over in a minute,” said Luna as she slid into the seat beside Hermione, a copy of The Quibbler in her hand. “By the way, Ron,” she continued, causing the wizard to look up. “Mr. Perry was very impressed by the potions conversation you two had yesterday. He wanted to know if you could stop by his Apothecary before you return to the Manor. I’ll show you where it is” Ron stared at her for a moment, uncomprehending, before his eyes widened in realization.

“Come back here in three days.”

“Oh, oh yeah. OK. Sure.” Harry was looking at him suspiciously, but luckily, before he could speak, Hermione snatched the newspaper from Luna’s grasp.

“Hey!” The blonde protested, but Hermione ignored her, as her own face became horrified.

“What?” Demanded Ron, as Harry, too, looked concerned. Hermione said nothing, not even complaining as Harry ripped The Quibbler from her hands, allowing both him and Ron to skim over the article that stricken their friend so bad.

DEMENTORS ATTACK ELIZABETH VILLAGE. NO SURVIVORS FOUND!

“Ron,” whispered Harry, mortified. “Ron, that’s where Dean and Neville live.” Though his heart was also pounding with fear for their friends, Ron quickly sent the smaller boy a quick, reassuring smile.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” he offered. “Look.” He skimmed down to the bottom of the article, pointing toward the reporter’s name. “Rita Skeeter wrote it. You know how she enjoys twisting things to make them sound more dramatic. More readers. There were probably lots of survivors.” He sent Luna a look. “You have her on your payroll?” The witch shrugged, and snatched the paper back from Ron’s lax grip.

“Daddy thought it would be good for business if a well-known journalist wrote for our paper. She’s the only one he pays.”

“Do you think this could be connected to our Dementor attack?” Inquired Harry, having ignored the conversation with Luna in favor of being lost in thought. Ron and Hermione shared a glance, the same question within their own eyes, as the waitress walked up, for hot plates on her tray, effectively ending their conversation.

“When we’re done here, we’ll go back over to my shop,” quipped Luna, digging her spoon into her mincemeat stew. “Daddy finally has some time off of work, and he’s interested in meeting you all.” The three shared looks over Luna’s bowed head. “But you won’t be able to keep him up very late. He’s leaving tomorrow to look for an expedition to find the rare Feararey.”

“A what?” Asked Harry, interested. As the two delved into a conversation over an animal Ron doubted existed, he looked down at his own stew, only to see something forming within it.

‘You didn’t believe a word you just told Harry, did you? About the Dementor attack?’

Ron’s head shot up, sending Hermione a curious glance, the look on her face proving that she was the one who had spelled the words to form. She arched her eyebrows pointedly, and Ron shook his head in reply, causing her expression to turn into one of hidden grief. How much he and his friends had changed in just four days. Ron looked down with a groan.

His headache was back.

.T.

Charlie smiled happily at the content pair sitting cuddled on the couch across from him. He could not think of a more perfect, blessed couple than Remus and Sirius. They had been best friends during school, had been lovers after graduation, and had been able to revive that relationship after Sirius had unfairly spent thirteen years in Azkaban Wizarding Prison. They had gone through so much, losing their best friends to death and greed, then themselves after getting caught in the mix, and still managed to stay together.

And now they were expecting their first child, and Charlie could not think of two more deserving people.

Sirius and Remus had been there for Charlie. When he had told them he was gay (before he knew they were a couple), they hadn’t cared. In fact, Sirius claimed to have known before hand, after having “repeatedly caught Charlie staring at his ass” (he had never denied the accusation). It had meant so much to him, knowing his parents would have reacted differently. They had also been the first ones to know about his relationship with Severus. As it was, it had actually been Remus Charlie had told, but Sirius had been eavesdropping. The animagus had been a bit hostile of the relationship at first, not trusting Severus in the slightest, but with as close as he had gotten to Charlie over the past few months, had finally dealt with it. Though he and Severus were still stiff around one another, for Charlie’s sake, they managed to be civil.

“Where is your snake at?” Inquired Sirius as though he had read his mind, effectively taking him from his thoughts. Charlie rolled his eyes at the nickname the wizard had for his lover, a small smirk on his face.

“He had a meeting with Voldemort,” he explained, wrinkling his nose at the name. That situation, too, had been taken civilly. “I don’t know why he’s taking so long, but I did leave him a note telling him where I was, as well as your news.” The last part brought a smile to the faces of both men, and Charlie chuckled as they shared loving looks. The moment was short lived, however, as not ten seconds later, the fire roared to life, and Severus stumbled out. Charlie watched in amusement as his lover struggled to catch himself before falling.

“Walk much, love?” Severus’ obsidian eyes rolled, and he turned his attention to the other wizards.

“Lupin, Black,” he acknowledged. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Severus,” replied Remus as he stood, Sirius muttering much the same as he shifted to make himself comfortable now that his mate had moved. “Can I get you anything?”

“I’m afraid not,” the Potions Master responded, sounding truly regretful. He pulled something from the pocket of his robes, and held it out for his redhead lover to see. “A request from you mother your owl brought to me,” he enlightened. “She wishes your presence at dinner. And seeing as how you and I are… friends.” Sirius snorted, causing a scathing look to be sent in his direction from his old schoolmate. When the animagus was somewhat silent, Severus reached into his pocket and pulled out an identical envelope. “She sent me one as well.” Charlie went pale.

“Do you think Ginny told them?” Quickly, Severus shook his head.

“No, actually. The letters are too polite. But.” He glanced at the clock above the fireplace. “We do have to be there in three minutes.” Charlie sighed and rose from his seat, waving off Sirius’ attempt to do the same.

“You should be sitting in your condition!” He exclaimed, leaning down to give the ex-convict a hug. Sirius swatted his shoulder as he returned it.

“I’m not even showing yet!” He cried with amusement. Charlie shrugged as he rose, turning to Remus.

“Don’t let him do too much,” he ordered. The werewolf gave him a toothy smile as he embraced the shorter wizard.

“Don’t worry. He’s on bed rest until birth.” Both of them, along with Severus, chuckled as Sirius’ eyes widened.

“Have fun, Black,” taunted the Potions Professor teasingly, without even a hint of malice. They both shared a devilish smirk as the elder grabbed Floo Powder from the bowl.

“Let’s go, Charlie.”

“Good luck!” Called Remus and Sirius simultaneously. Charlie sent a wave of acknowledgement over his shoulder as he stepped into the emerald flames. With a cry of “The Burrow!” he was gone.

Once it was obvious they weren’t coming back, Remus moved to stand behind the couch, placing both hands on the shoulders of his lover. Sirius groaned as he began to massage them, closing his eyes with a sigh of contentment. His hand flew to his still-flat stomach, and he rubbed it lovingly. He wished his child could grow up in peace like this. Without the fear of war, or death, or losing him or Remus hanging over them. Where she or he could grow up knowing Harry as an older brother, and not the bloody Boy Who Lived. He wished he could obtain that peace for them.

“What are you thinking about, love?” Inquired his mate curiously. Slowly, Sirius’ blue eyes cracked open, and he turned them toward his lover.

“I was thinking that…” He sighed, assuring himself that he wanted to do this before continuing. “I was thinking that we should take Auxilary up on his offer.”

Remus stared at him for a moment, stunned. His hands stilled in their ministrations, and slowly, he moved around the couch to sit beside him. Sirius hated the other werewolf greatly, more so than he had ever hated Snape, and perhaps just as much as he hated Voldemort.

“Sirius, you know what this entails for us, and for our child.” He, too, rested a hand on his lover’s stomach. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” responded the animagus firmly. “I’m positive.” Golden eyes stared at him for a moment, studying, thinking. And then Remus nodded, not moving from his position.

“All right, then,” he gave in. “I’ll contact him tomorrow.” Sirius’ eyes widened.

“Tomorrow?” He cried dramatically. “But, that’s a whole day away! What am I going to do until then?” He lifted his eyebrows suggestively at the last part, his voice dropping to a husky pitch. The werewolf caught on instantly, a wicked smile forming on his face.

“I’ve got just the idea.”

.T.

Lord Emer gazed around his clan as he sat beside his resting Chosen One. He could tell they were hungry – having eaten one of their own had not satisfied them enough. He smirked slightly as he remembered Ilin’s death. He had deserved it.

“Emer,” spoke the Chosen One softly, catching the Dementor Lord off guard. “Your Dementors are hungry.”

“Yes, milord,” he agreed absently. He could hear the Chosen One snort at his offhandedness.

“They need to be fed. Call your favorite. I have just the place.”

.T.

“They’re good!” Cried Ron in annoyance, glaring at the small raven-haired boy before him. Harry’s emerald eyes flashed dangerously as he refused to back down, and when he spoke, his words were just as harsh as those of his best friend.

“They lack the courage to be good, Ronald!” He retorted. “Muggles would be better than them!” Ron’s jaw dropped, and his face filled with rage.

“NO MUGGLE COULD BEAT THE CHUDLEY CANNONS!” He exclaimed. Harry stared at him for a moment, before his face cracked into a smile, and a laugh slowly forced its way out. Hermione, who was walking beside them, could also not contain her amusement.

“Muggles can’t fly, Ron,” she offered. “Harry won that one.” Ron’s face slowly fell back to normal as he realized she was right. He sent a sullen glance to the still chuckling Gryffindor.

“I don’t like this game,” he pouted. Still smiling, Harry clapped him on the back.

“That’s because you have a short temper,” he explained.

“I do not.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I do not have a short temper!” Ron blinked as he realized he had shouted these words, and he slowly began to deflate as Harry and Hermione grinned.

“Yes, you do.”

“We’re here.”

The trio’s smiles instantly disappeared at Luna’s words, and they all looked up at the giant apothecary. Ron suddenly felt incredibly nervous at the prospect of what was going to happen behind those walls.

“Do you want us to go in with you?” Asked Harry worriedly, but Ron shook his head.

“I’m just going to go help him. No need to worry, mate.” And with that, he walked through the door, leaving his only salvations on the other side.

The front room was dark and musty. That was the first thing Ron noticed when the door closed behind him. The second thing he noticed was that all of the windows were closed, and blinds drawn over them, despite the fact that the day was perfect. Old, dusty potion bottles were stacked upon rows and rows of shelves, and no less than five cauldrons were steaming over fires on the floor.

It was your average, every day apothecary.

“You’re late.”

Ron whirled around at the whispered voice, coming face to face with the aged Mr. Perry. He was still dressed in ragged brown robes, and still wearing the scowl that had been on his face when he had first walked into the Lovegood’s shop.

Yet, there was something different about him. Something… something about his eyes. They seemed… brighter… warmer, even. There even seemed to be a bit of a concerned glint within their depths, though for what reason, Ron was not sure. It only seemed to grow, however, as Mr. Perry studied him.

“Changed, have you?” he asked, and Ron looked down, missing the flash in his green eyes in doing so.

“Yes,” he acknowledged. “Why, is that bad?” Mr. Perry simply shrugged, reaching on withered hand into the pocket of his robes.

“I was just making an observation.” A small smile formed on his face as he withdrew a small, clear phial from the obviously deep pocket. “You must drink this,” he commanded, holding it out to him. Ron stared at it a moment, unsure, and Mr. Perry sighed. “You’re afraid. Afraid of what you could see.”

“Yes,” Ron admitted, unashamed. Mr. Perry sighed again.

“What I give you will only activate your gift sooner. Whether you drink this potion or not, your visions will come. This way, though, I offer you the chance to have some control over them. I offer you the sight you want so badly of your friend.” Ron slowly nodded, and took the phial. “Drink it quickly,” Mr. Perry coached. “Quickly, Ron.”

And he did.

Oh, how foul it tasted! He wondered if Mr. Perry was no better at brewing potions than he was. However, before he had a chance to regain his bearings, the elderly wizard was pushing him toward the window, and drawing back the blind.

“Look at Mr. Potter, Ron,” he instructed softly. “Think about what you want to see.”

Ron studied the form of his friend. He looked concerned, his eyes aged, and though he was trying to smile at Hermione, Ron could see he wasn’t sincere. His heart ached for what his friend was going through.

‘Everything,’ he thought. ‘Show me everything that has destroyed my friend.’

And before he could think about it, Ron was engulfed in unimaginable pain, and his mind was literally thrown from his body.

Vision

A little boy, who looked no older than five, was standing in the kitchen, clothed in some of the most atrocious things Ron had ever seen in his life. His wide green eyes were filled with innocence only a child could posses. He was watching as three people, two overly obese, one sickly thin, ate their meals, a wistful look on his face. Ron watched curiously as the little boy slowly made his way to the larger male, bring up a hand to move his hair out of his face, allowing Ron perfect view of the scar on his forehead. Dear Merlin…

It was Harry.

Ron watched in horror as his best friend tugged lightly on Vernon Dursley’s shirt cuff, having a sick feeling that he knew what was going to happen. He winced as the Muggle rounded on the child, face purple from having been interrupted.

“What do you want?” He growled, causing Harry to flinch. Ron just wanted to go and snatch him up.

“Please, Uncle Vernon, sir,” he pleaded in a small voice, causing Ron’s heart to break further. “Can I… May I have some food?” His Aunt Petunia and cousin had stopped eating, obviously surprised at the request. Vernon’s face went from purple to red.

“What did you say?” He growled again, dangerously this time. Harry flinched again, and stuttered a response.

“I… I want… I would…” Harry was unable to get the words out of his mouth Vernon suddenly stood and grabbed him roughly by the arm, dragging him from the kitchen as his wife and son resumed eating.

“How dare you ask for anything?” Bellowed the Muggle as he made his way toward the cupboard. Harry was mumbling protests, eyes filled with tears as he struggled to break free. Without a word, Vernon threw the child into the small cupboard, not even wincing at the sound of a crack, signaling a broken bone, or showing any remorse whatsoever as the sound of Harry’s quiet sobs floated out of the cupboard.

FLASH

Harry was older now; nine, perhaps. He was sitting in his cupboard, doing nothing, when Vernon suddenly burst in.

“You,” he mumbled, obviously drunk. Harry shot up and moved to the corner, shaking like a leaf, hoping to avoid his uncle’s attention. However, this only served to make the man angrier. Without warning, he reached out and grabbed Harry’s arm, and dragged him forward, out into the empty living room.

“I’ll teach you to disobey me!” He roared. Ron watched in horror as Vernon loosened his belt, and was even more mortified when Harry instantly removed his shirt.

“No!” He cried desperately as Vernon brought his belt up. Neither seemed to hear him as the belt came flying down and connected sharply upon Harry’ s back. Ron winced at Harry’s cry of pain, tears of his own forming as the belt hit again and again, tearing Harry’s flesh, destroying his childhood innocence. He couldn’t take anymore.

FLASH

There were three more scenes like this, all after Harry had come to Hogwarts, one upon his arrival home from first year, one just a day before the incident with his Aunt Marge, prior to third year, and one the same day as when his mum had sent out the letter inviting Harry to the Quidditch World Cup. Guilt filled his system, knowing that he had been responsible for some of Harry’s pain at the hands of his uncle.

FLASH

This one was recent. Harry was sitting on his bedroom floor, tears streaming down his pale face, body more torn and broken than Ron could have thought imaginable. He was carving something into the wall. Squinting, Ron moved forward to see if he could make it out, and when he did, his blood ran cold, and he felt numb.

‘I Killed Cedric Diggory.’

Oh, God…

“Please,” he heard Harry whisper suddenly. He whirled around, thinking for a moment that he had somehow been seen, only to see that his friend was lying on his back, wincing with every breath, and staring unblinking at the ceiling.

“Please,” began the raven-haired boy again. “Please, God, just let me die. Please. I deserve it. I got him killed. Please. Please, please, please.” He was beginning to cry now, his voice cracking with emotion. “Please. I don’t want to fight anymore. I don’t want to see anymore people die. Please, just let me be with my parents. Please.” More tears escaped his eyes, and he had to stop for a minute to take in a few deep breaths. “Please, just let him kill me. I don’t deserve to live. I don’t want to live. Please! Please, please, please, please. Oh, God, please, God, PLEASE!” He finally screamed.

“Please…”

FLASH

Vernon snapping his wand. That damn belt again. There was nothing else after the first hit. Ron assumed his passed out.

FLASH, FLASH, FLASH!

It was all Dursley’s fault. He had done it. He had destroyed Harry. He had ruined him.

And Ron was going to kill him.

FLASH!

He was back in the apothecary, lying on the floor. Mr. Perry was standing over him, concern now shining brightly in his green eyes. Ron stared at him. He had known. He had known what had happened to Harry and he had shown him.

“Are you alright, Ron?” Inquired the elderly wizard, reaching down a hand to help him up. Ron stared at it for a moment. It was amazing how wrinkled it was, how fragile. Without taking it, Ron stood up with ease, brushing himself off needlessly.

Damn, did he feel good!

“Are you alright, Ron?” Inquired Mr. Perry cautiously. Ron turned his gaze upon him, giving him a curious look, and he suddenly felt the need to elaborate. “Such a powerful vision should have you down for ages.” Ron blinked at him, and then moved forward, catching both of the wizard’s hands in his.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, before stepping back.

He had a Muggle to kill.

And with a clap of thunder, Ron Apparated away.

.T.

Charlie watched anxiously as his mother removed the dishes from the table and set them into the sink, spelling a cleaning brush and towel to rid them of their mess. From across the table, he met Severus’ eyes, but lowered them when his lover arched an eyebrow. He knew the whole point of coming here had been to inform his parents of his sexual preference, but he just hadn’t been able to find it within himself to do.

The entire dinner had been spent discussing Ron. Apparently, his mother had gone and blown up in Dumbledore’s face today because he had not been found. The damn idiot should have known better than to underestimate his ‘Golden Trio’. He should have known that three days would not have been enough time to locate them. But he hadn’t, and now the situation was being taken out of his hands and into his mother’s. Already, she had contacted The Daily Prophet, The Whooper, and every other newspaper within the Wizarding World to run missing ads. She had firecalled and set up an interview with Rita Skeeter on the entire thing (who, the twins had claimed, had only been interested when she found out that Harry was also missing.). Charlie had been unable to go and break his mother’s heart, when she had already lost Ron.

From beside him, Ginny shifted anxiously in her seat. Though on the outside she appeared concerned for her youngest elder brother, inside, the redhead was fuming. Charlie had shown up for the dinner with Snape. She had known her mother had invited him, and would have left it alone, had it not been for the fact that they had come out of the fireplace only a second apart. They had been together, she knew it.

Charlie had not heeded her warning. It pissed her off more than anything in the world when someone didn’t take her seriously.

And her brother was going to find that out the hard way.

Thank Merlin the twins had gone upstairs.

“Daddy,” she called, watching as her father lowered The Daily Prophet to look at her. “Mum.” She bit back a smirk as Charlie stiffened beside her. “Since Charlie’s dating, is it alright if I do?” She inquired innocently, keeping her vicious smile from her face as all color drained from that of her brother’s. Her parents were silent for a moment, taking in what she had said.

“Charlie!” Mrs. Weasley finally exclaimed, beaming, thoughts on her youngest son temporarily forgotten. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Well done, son,” congratulated Arthur, clapping him on the back. “Who’s the lucky girl?”

Feeling as though he could die, Charlie shot a desperate look to Severus, though he knew his lover could do nothing to help him. Instead, love radiated from his pitch-black orbs, encouraging him to go through with it. Taking in a deep breath, Charlie turned his gaze back to his parents.

“There is no lucky girl,” he said softly, shuddering as he felt Ginny squirm with glee. Here it went. “I’m dating a guy.”

The room went deathly silent. Charlie closed his eyes, wishing he could just conjure up an endless pit and jump into it. He could hear that Severus’ breathing had also sped up, and knew the Potions Master was prepared to go on the offensive.

“Excuse me?” His father whispered finally, sounding as though he didn’t believe what he had heard. For some reason, this made Charlie angry. Angry that it mattered, angry that they had to care whether or not it was a boy or girl. And when he spoke, his anger sounded in his words. He would spend the rest of his life wondering that if he had been meek, the whole thing would have worked out differently.

“I said I’m gay!” He cried, shooting up from his seat, causing Ginny to “eep!” and fall back in surprise. “I fancy wizards. I enjoy the company of men. I find pleasure in taking it up the ass! How else shall I define it for you?” His anger slowly died down at the end of his rant, leaving behind a feeling of horror at what he had just done. He watched as his father stood up, eyes filled with an emotion Charlie had never seen before. An emotion that strangely resembled…

Hate.

His father hated him.

“Who?” Questioned Arthur quietly, fists clenched. Charlie blinked at him, uncomprehending.

“What?”

“I said who?” Demanded Arthur harshly, causing Charlie to jump back. Unnoticed by all but one, Ginny slowly left the room. “Who is it you’re… you’re dating?”

“Me,” voiced Severus before Charlie had a chance to respond. Three sets of brown eyes landed on the Death Eater, who was standing and staring down the Weasley matriarch defiantly. “He’s dating me.”

Mr. Weasley stared at them for a second, fists clenching and unclenching, rage burning behind his eyes.

“Get out,” he finally said. Molly’s eyes widened in horror.

“Arthur…” She began, but he silenced her with a glare. Charlie took a step forward, hurt shining painfully in his eyes.

“Dad…” He pleaded. Mr. Weasley flinched at the title, his rage beginning to break loose.

“I said get out!” Roared Mr. Weasley, raising a hand as though to strike him. “You are no son of mine!” He began to bring his hand down, but Charlie, having taken the hint, was already bolting from the room. Severus watched him go, before glaring murderously at Mr. Weasley.

“You’re pathetic,” he sneered, as he, too, exited the room. He saw Ginny standing in the hall, feeling a stab of satisfaction as he saw fear of him in her eyes. Before she could utter a sound, he painfully clutched her elbow in his hand, whipping her around so she was facing him completely.

“They have places in hell for people like you,” he hissed, pressing her against the wall. “You have betrayed a person who loved you more than anything for nothing. You have won nothing.”

And with that, he released her, and was gone through the fireplace a minute later.

.T.

Hermione and Harry were laughing as Mr. Lovegood told them yet another story about his quest to capture the Crumpled-Horned Snorkack that still sat in the cage on the counter. Apparently, it had been quite an adventure, for it had taken three months to be successful.

The duo had taken an instant liking to Luna’s father. He was an animated, kind man that reminded them of Mr. Weasley, which was a good reminder of home. He had not been absorbed in Harry’s scar, and had given them little grief on running away. Though it did seem a little odd that these adults felt no desire to turn them over to Dumbledore, neither Hermione nor Harry were willing to kick a gift horse in the mouth.

“Would you like some more pumpkin juice, Harry, dear?” Inquired Mrs. Lovegood, looking pointedly toward the raven-haired teen. Harry gave her a polite smile.

“No, thank – ahhh.” His hand flew up to his head in pain, and he began to slide out of his seat. He felt two strong arms wrap around him and pull him close, instantly aware that it was Hermione.

“What is it, Harry?” She demanded frantically, fear in her voice. “Is it your scar? Is it Voldemort?”

Slowly, Harry opened his eyes, which were blurred with tears from the pain.

“Ron.”

.T.

Vernon’s Dursleys eyes were wide and frantic as they darted around the room, his breathing fast and heavy from fear. He tried vainly to keep his obese form up against the wall, but, even though he had lost some weight over the past four days, it was impossible. If only he could find the door…

“Oh, Verrrrrrrnnnnnoooonnn,” called a taunting voice from down the corridor. The Muggle’s blood ran cold as he saw the outline of his pursuer making its way slowly down the hall. The boy was toying with him. He knew it. But he had to get away. He had to get home. He turned around, prepared to make a break for the front door, only to come face to face with the red-haired nightmare from hell.

“Hello, Vernon!” Greeted the wizard in mock cheerfulness. Instantly, the man burst out into tears.

“Why are you doing this to me?” He cried. Ron, though he tried, could not keep the incredulous look from his face.

“Why? Why?” He shook his head. “Can’t you even think of a reason why I would want to hurt you, Vernon?”

“The boy!” Exclaimed Vernon almost instantly, looking up. “That’s it! The freak told you lies about me, didn’t he?” Ron’s face screwed up in anger, and Vernon instantly fell silent. That would not save him from retribution this time.

“Verbera!” Ron bellowed, aiming his wand at the large target. Vernon screamed at the sensation of what felt like belts hitting him across the back, slicing open his sick and forming welts that would last for ages.

“This is how Harry felt when you beat him!” Yelled Ron as he watched Vernon endure his beating. “How young was he when you started hitting him with your belt, Dursley, eh? Six, seven?” Vernon could offer no answer, and Ron’s anger grew. “I’m sorry for you, Vernon Dursley. I am not in a merciful mood today, and you are the one who has to suffer for it.” He threw down his wand, the spell still in place, and brought his hands up to either side of Vernon’s head.

“Mors Acerbus!”

As Vernon Dursley died a most painful and horrifying death, Harry, Hermione, and the Lovegood family burst into Prince Manor, the former duo’s eyes going wide at the sight.

“Ron!” Harry cried. Concentration broken, the redhead whipped around to see his horrified friends, Vernon’s body falling to the floor with a thud.

“Harry…” He whispered, the room beginning to grow fuzzy.

Before anyone could move, Ronald Weasley fell into darkness, and crumbled to the ground.

.T.

Seventy-five miles away, in the master bedroom of Snape Manor, Severus Snape and Charlie Weasley made love gently, the former wiping away the tears of rejection as the moved together, stealing a little bit of peace they so deserved.

.T.

Without the knowledge of anyone else around, Anna Granger fell to the ground, neck snapped and soul taken, a content Dementor standing over her, her husband in the same state three feet away. The Dementor chuckled as it began to glide away from the house.

Now she had three souls to offer the Chosen One.

TBC

Done! It’s finished! I have had this chapter planned out since the prelude, and now it’s done! And I broke my chapter six curse! Son-of-a-Hallelujah! –breaks out the champagne- Or do you prefer FireWhiskey? –winks-

LOOOONNNNNNNNNG chapter. 11k again. Perhaps I should cut them down? Are they taking too long for you to read? Let me know, please!

TRANSLATIONS:

Verbera: Latin for lashing. Just don’t tell my teacher I had to use my dictionary to look it up, k?

Mors Acerbus:Latin for painful death. Lacks originality, I know. Get over it. XP

Next Chapter: Ron must deal with the aftermath of committing a murder, as well as his gift, which it appears he has no control over after all. Fudge uses Dumbledore’s accusations to his advantage, which has a huge effect on the Trio. And Hermione, Ron, and Harry are given little time to rest as the Chosen One (who WILL be getting a better name –glare-) and Lord Emer move into position to rid the Wizarding World of the Half-Blood Prince before he is even “born”. Another action-packed chapter, in which Draco, Blaise, Severus, Charlie, Sirius, and Remus are also featured. Interested in knowing who Draco has been flirting with? I bet you will be surprised… hehehehehe –shuts mouth-

To my Voldemort/Harry wanters: They finally meet in chapter eight. Ah, the beginning of a beautiful slash pairing!

Notes: Yes, I know. Chapter six, Liberate Me. I’m working on it (Harry/Aeron is being an ass). Give me three days, please. I have two MLA papers to work on. –twitches-

-wrinkles nose- OK… I’m tired. –snorts- I think I’ll go to bed. Y’all enjoy yourselves, and try not to get into any trouble.

No, seriously, I mean it… I’ll ground you o.O

Yeah. Bed.

G’night!

\- Brit


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